Quotes About Ephemeral

Happiness is a fleeting thing, little mistress. You cannot hold it in your hand, you cannot smell it or taste it—you can only take it when it comes along.

As for her perfume, it was the kind you only noticed after she'd left a room, not while she was still in it. Even then you didn't realize it was perfume, you only wondered what had made you think of her just then.

I relished those moments, knowing they would end.

I do know that I fell in love with the moment of falling in love and I wanted to keep that moment alive forever, at the expense of all those moments to follow.

Scientists say there is a noise that snowflakes make when they land on water, like the wail of a coyote; the sound reaches a climax and then fades away, all in about one ten-thousandth of a second.

snowflakes make when they land on water, like the wail of a coyote; the sound reaches a climax and then fades away, all in about one

How satisfying it is to leave a mark on a blank surface. To make a map of my movement - no matter how temporary.

It's impossible to hold on to anything really. Everything slips away in due time.

What is life It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.

We humans may think of ourselves as solid objects, all flesh and bone. But take a close look, and it's clear our bodies are composed largely of oxygen and hydrogen. We are essentially ephemeral – akin as much to wind water, and fire as to earth.

A composition that we do not understand or like appears to expand in time as we experience it, yet vanishes almost immediately from memory.

Contemporary books do not keep. The quality in them which makes for their success is the first to go; they turn over night. – Cyril Connolly

We are an echo that runs, skittering, through a train of rooms

May the gentle mountains and the bells of the flocksRemind us of everything we have lost,For we have seen on our way and fallen in loveWith the world that will pass in a twinkling.

The hills had looked friendly in the sunshine, but in this wild weather their aspect had changed. They were not so much unfriendly as indifferent – old, grim and enigmatical. They made one feel that human life was a precarious thing. They made one feel helpless and ephemeral as a butterfly. It was a horrible feeling

TV happens. And once it's happened, it's gone. When it's gone, you move on, no tears, no tantrums, no videotape.

If you look closely and objectively, it becomes clear that life is just one big revolving door of people: some who matter, some who don't. Some that matter until they don't.

Time passes... but memories do not.

If you could know —if you could always know —when the lasts in life are coming, you'd handle them differently. You'd savor. You'd stop. You'd let nothing else invade the moment.

How swiftly the strained honey of afternoon light flows into darkness and the closed bud shrugs off its special mystery in order to break into blossom: as if what exists, exists so that it can be lost and become precious

A door jumps out from shadows, then jumps away. This is what I've come to find: the back door, unlatched. Tooled by insular wind, it slams and slams without meaning to and without meaning.

How beautiful the days, They come and go.

He's just a flash in the pants.

Maravilla ser solía, pero ya lástima doy; que de extremo a extremo voy y desde ser a no ser, pues sol me llamaba ayer y hoy sombra mía aun no soy.