Quotes About Ephemeral

What you wouldn't have suspected lives & trembles in the air. Those treasures of the day you keep just out of reach. These come & go in truckloads but no one stops to see them.

LUCIFER: I pity thee who lovest what must perish. CAIN: And I thee who lov'st nothing

What is the end of Fame? 't is but to fill A certain portion of uncertain paper: Some liken it to climbing up a hill, Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour; For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill, And bards burn what they call their 'midnight taper,' To have, when the original is dust, A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust.

Time! On whose arbitrary wing The varying hours must flag or fly, Whose tardy winter, fleeting spring, But drag or drive us on to die

Men think highly of those who rise rapidly in the world; whereas nothing rises quicker than dust, straw, and feathers

Some men are daylight readers, who peruse the ambiguous wording of clouds or the individual letter shapes of wandering birds. Some, like myself, are librarians of the night, whose ephemeral documents consist of root-inscribed bones or whatever rustles in the thickets upon solitary walks.

The best way to be resurrected is to be forgotten.

How men are like little ants on the crust of the earth, busying themselves with all that is so important, but their lives and industry are just a blink in geological time, really. Borrowed time at that. Mother Earth has only to shrug a shoulder in her sleep, and all the little men and houses go tumbling and scattering, and the men go fleeing for safer sanctuary.

He'd forget all that, just as he would forget this night. The memories would linger for a time, but they'd grow dull. The ache he felt now, the frustation and anger and sorrow - all those would fade too. She'd given him a night to remember, but of course he'd forget.

We think of life as a solid and are haunted when time tells us it is a fluid.

shells, as unique and timeless as bones, helped me realize that we all die young, that in the life of the earth, we are houseflies, here for one brief flash.

shells, as unique and timeless as bones, helped me realize that we all die young, that in the life of the earth, we are houseflies, here for one flash of light.

The story of life is quicker than the blink of an eye. The story of love is Hello and Goodbye. Until we meet again.......

My life is a crystal teardrop. There are snowflakes falling in the teardrop and little figures trudging around in slow motion. If I were to look into the teardrop for the next million years, I might never find out who the people are, and what they are doing.

Just an ordinary day. "And then—gone.

La vie change vite. La vie change dans l'instant. On s'apprête à dîner et la vie telle qu'on la connaît s'arrête.

We leave no trace as we pass on. Ghostlike, we cast no shadow.

And it is partly the transience of it that delights me; so much loving preparation, so much art and experience, put into a pleasure that can last only a moment, and which only a few will ever fully appreciate.

This is what I like about photographs. They're proof that once, even if just for a heartbeat, everything was perfect.

Time is an optical illusion- never quite as soild or strong as we think it is

Each memory is like a paper flower stowed up a magician's sleeve: invisible one moment and then so substantial and florid the next I cannot imagine how it stayed hidden all this time. And like those paper flowers, once they've been let loose in the world, the memories are impossible to tuck away again.

History could hover, like a faint perfume or a memory stamped on the back of one's eyelids.

Nothing is Real; it's a Cosmic Drama. We are just Actors; we Come and we Go. There will be Laughter; there will be Tears. Such is the Cosmic Show.

Whenever life sucks, remember youre going to die someday. So, any day above ground is a good day.