Quotes About Ephemeral

Je lui dirais que certaines personnes sont comme des constellations qui ne touchent la terre que l'espace d'une saison.

All that smoke and savour rising so delicately from our altars. It leaves only ash behind.

There are rare moments when another soul dips near yours, as stars once a year brush the earth.

Diría que algunas personas son como las constelaciones, que solo tocan la Tierra durante una Temporada

Next winter and next winter and next winter. In the mind they passed all slowly, like clouds across a summer sky, but a sudden call or turn of the head and they disappeared in a rush, shuttling quickly one after the last till nothing was left but a strangeness in the mind, a drop of thought that trembled and was gone, perhaps.

ag skriver ner allt det här i blått bläck, så att jag ska minnas att alla ord, inte bara vissa, är skrivna i vatten.

She is hollowed out, her edges blurred and insubstantial. She might disintegrate, break apart, like a raindrop hitting a leaf.

This peace will leave us as a cluster of dust...

Remember yourself before all turns to dust

Porque escribir, como amar, es hijo de las nubes, que se deshacen si las atrapas.

Surely the glory of journalism is its transience.

Those fools, the poets, compare a girl in the bloom of youth to a flower. But that's not right; flowers are too tough. A soap bubble would be better. A thing of wonder, too fragile to exist.

Life was too precious to be so fragile

existence a temporary delusion—hadn

Es que habría que saber aceptar las cosas como se dan, y apreciar lo bueno que te pase, aunque no dure. Porque nada es para siempre.

Este sueño es corto, pero es feliz

Her sea-blue eyes shone behind curls that hid her brow, and all her face had that vivid radiance that is retained by ripe nectarines for only a day, but glows for three or four years on the smooth cheeks of young girls.

The charms of the passing woman are generally in direct proportion to the swiftness of her passing.

The charms of a passing woman are usually in direct relation to the speed of her passing.

For what we suppose to be our love or our jealousy is never a single, continuous and indivisible passion. It is composed of an infinity of successive loves, of different jealousies, each of which is ephemeral, although by their uninterrupted multiplicity they give us the impression of continuity, the illusion of unity.

Everything that seems imperishable tends to extinguishment.

A book is like a large cemetery upon whose tombs one can no longer read the effaced names. On the other hand, sometimes one remembers well the name, without knowing if anything of the being, whose name it was, survives in these pages.

Those who have played a big part in one's life very rarely disappear from it suddenly for good. They return to it at odd moments … before leaving it for good.

Alle unsere endgültigen Entschlüsse werden in einem sehr vergänglichen Gemütszustand gefaßt.