Quotes About Ephemeral

It felt good to be surrounded by books, by all this solid knowledge, by these objects that could be ripped page by page but couldn't be torn if the pages all held together. So much of the information we received was ephemeral -- pixels on screen, words passing in the air. But here I felt that thoughts had weight.

I don't think anything can stay, he tells me. Good or bad. So I think the important part is to not get caught up in worrying about whether something will stay, and instead enjoy it for the time it's here.

I think the important part is to not get caught up in worrying about whether something will stay, and instead enjoy it for the time it's here.

I want this to be the sand that stays on my fingers.

The desire to take a moment and make it last forever. The desire to stay like this for much longer than it will really last.

We become, for a few short seconds, our own time zone.

I want to give her a good day. Just one good day. I have wandered for so long without any sense of purpose, and now this ephemeral purpose is given to me. I only have one day to give - so why can't it be a good one? (11)

I wanted it, I wanted, I wanted, but the moment it was mine, it ceased to interest me.

Wohin mit all dem, wenn ich tot bin? Ich glaube, ich hätte lieber die Erinnerung eines Grashalms am Straßenrand, an dem alle vorübergehen, eines Grashalms, den nie wieder einer sieht, bis er eines Tages abgemäht oder ausgerupft wird. Oder einfach vertrocknet.

His eyes touched lightly, and passed on.

hay gold dusk of late spring

How passionately we love everything that cannot last: the dazzling crystallory of winter, the spring in bloom, the fragile flight of butterflies, crimson sunsets, a kiss, and life.

Readers will easily recognize the cover of a book they've read, but in a cafe that man over there, is that...is that...well, it's hard to tell - doesn't he have long hair? - oh, he's gone.

When you die, there is nothing--only a life that will be forgotten. -from Gathering Ashes

Now and then, I remember you in times Unbelievable. And in places not made for memory But for the transient, the passing that does not remain.

Cause nobody's the slightest idea who we are, or who we were, not even we ourselves - except, that is, in the glimmer of a moment of fair business between strangers, or the nod of knowing and agreement between friends. Other than these, we go out anonymous into the insect air and all we are is the dust of colour, brief engineering of wings towards a glint of light on a blade of grass or a leaf in a summer dark. Azide Smith, How to be Both

Ryan was convinced of the aging fifties motto 'Live fast, die young', and, though his scooter didn't do more than 22 m.p.h. downhill, he liked to warn Clara in grim tones not to get 'too involved', for he wouldn't be here long; he was 'going out' early and with a 'bang'".

Desiring lasts a long time, demands and requests go on to infinity; fulfillment is short and is meted out sparingly. But even the final satisfaction itself is only apparent; the wish fulfilled at once makes way for a new one.

The glory of a surgeon is like that of an actor: they live only so long as they are alive, and their talent leaves no trace when they are gone. Actors and surgeons, like great singers too, like the executants who by their performance increase the power of music tenfold, are all the heroes of a moment.

Beauty doesn't keep, but rots like apples.

For he realized at last that the spiritual balm he had always found in silent things was simply the assurance that the passions and agonies of man were without meaning, roots, or duration - no more part of the permament background of the world than the curls of blue smoke that from time to time were wafted through the valley from the autumn bonfires of weeds and rubbish, and that he could see winding like blue wraiths in and out of the foilage of the trees.

No verse can give pleasure for long, nor last, that is written by drinkers of water.

We are but dust and shadow.

The fog was made more beautiful by its passing, like flags in the spring; like the last drone of cicadas in a dying summer; like the brief yellow of hickories, the purple of sweetgums, in the fall. You loved most the things that passed away, that you couldn't hold on to, no matter how much you loved them.