Quotes About Ephemeral

Zira güzellik bu dünyaya ait olmad???n? bilelim diye bizim aylakl?k ettiÄŸimiz yerde sürer üzünç dolu hayat?n?.

For that pale breast and lingering hand Come from a more dream-heavy land, A more dream-heavy hour than this; And when you sigh from kiss to kiss I hear white Beauty sighing, too, For hours when all must fade like dew.

Lay your sleeping head, my love, Human on my faithless arm; Time and fevers burn away Individual beauty from Thoughtful children, and the grave Proves the child ephemeral: But in my arms till break of day Let the living creature lie, Mortal, guilty, but to me The entirely beautiful.

we trust without giving it a thought that we will always see it as we see it once and that what we know is only a moment of what is ours and will stay we believe it as the moment slips away as lengthening shadows merge in the valley and a window kindles there like a first star what we see again comes to us in secret

but happiness has a shape made of air / it was never owned by anyone / it comes when it will in its own time — W.S. Merwin, from "December Morning," Garden Time (Copper Canyon Press, 2016)

your note is the time of your radiance arriving once just as the sun does

[The photographs] were there simply to indicate a radical art that had already vanished. The photograph was necessary only as a residue for communication.

Time has wings it is flying but it has no shape, no colour, no dimension so it is invisible.

This body is a tent which for a space Does the pure soul with kingly presence grace; When he departs, comes the tent-pitcher, Death, Strikes it, and moves to a new halting-place.

The world is impermanent. One should constantly remember death.

Life is like a very short visit to a toy shop between birth and death.

Better was it to go unknown and leave behind you an arch, then to burn like a meteor and leave no dust.

There are more dead people than living. And their numbers are increasing. The living are getting rarer.

Golden lads and girls all must as chimney sweepers come to dust.

Some things are more precious because they don't last long.

What is death, after all? We leave only mortals behind us.

I pressed her thigh and death smiled

Let death find us as we are building up our matchstick protests against its waves.

Odd how clear it suddenly became, once a person had died, that the body was the very least of him.

Like the dew on the mountain, like the foam on the river, like the bubble on the fountain, thou art gone, and for ever!

Passing away" is written on the world and all the world contains.

We turn to dust, and all our mightiest works die too.

I like thinking about the fragility of the human flesh and our bodies - our decay and eventual death.

Because beauty consists of its own passing, just as we reach for it. It's the ephemeral configuration of things in the moment, when you can see both their beauty and their death.