Quotes About Ephemeral

we're a mystery which will never happen again, a miracle which has never happened before...

what if a much of a which of a wind

Now is the time when all occasional things close into silence.

whiter than lilies which are born and cease for being whiter than this world)

But the boy's eyes saw only the tracks made by the skaters, traces quickly erased of moments past, journeys taken.

And then one day, you too disappear. Your armchair is still there. But instead of you sitting in it, there is just an empty space. You went back to where you came from just a few years ago.

It is the nature of the world of form that nothing stays fixed for very long - and so it starts to fall apart again. Forms dissolve; new forms arise. Watch the clouds. They will teach you about the world of form.

When you live through the mind-made self comprised of thought and emotion that is the ego, the basis for your identity is precarious because thought and emotion are by their very nature ephemeral, fleeting. So every ego is continuously struggling for survival

The very thing that gives you pleasure today will give you pain tomorrow, or it will leave you, so its absence will give you pain.

And with these thoughts came a realization of how unimportant to the life and happiness of the world is the existence of any one of us. We may be snuffed out without an instant's warning, and for a brief day our friends speak of us with subdued voices. The following morning, while the first worm is busily engaged in testing the construction of our coffin, they are teeing up for the first hole to suffer more acute sorrow over a sliced ball than they did over our, to us, untimely demise.

Her mind was an hotel where facts came and went like transient lodgers, without leaving their address behind, and frequently without paying for their board.

individual destiny is to a large extent defined, and human potential frequently circumscribed, by social conventions as ephemeral as they are ''inscrutable.

But, my dear, it's just the fugitiveness of mortal caring that makes it so exquisite! It's because we know we can't hold fast to it, or to each other, or to anything...

He thought to himself, I'll never be this perfect again, an idea that made him sad.

To teach me that a lifetime can be vast as a hundred years or sudden as a few breaths? Enjoy this one you have left. It all passes so fast. In the time it takes to draw a breath.

Consider the world as an abode where in you have dropped down for an hour, then you have got to leave it and go ahead; or (suppose it is) like the wealth which you lay hands upon in a dream and become over-joyed and glad. Then you wake up to find yourself empty handed.

Dans les rues, je suis l'obsédé de ma morte, mornement regardant tous ces agités qui ne savent pas qu'ils vont mourir et que le bois de leur cercueil existe déjà dans une scierie ou dans une forêt, vaguement regardant ces jeunes et fardés futurs cadavres femelles qui rient avec leurs dents, annonce et commencement de leur squelette, qui montrent leurs trente-deux petits bouts de squelette et qui s'esclaffent comme s'ils ne devaient jamais mourir.

SOME PAINTINGS become famous because, being durable, they are viewed by successive generations, in each of which are likely to be found a few appreciative eyes. I know a painting so evanescent that it is seldom viewed at all, except by some wandering deer. It is a river who wields the brush, and it is the same river who, before I can bring my friends to view his work, erases it forever from human view. After that it exists only in the mind's eye.

hours hours and hours snap up our pleasures

You must be careful. Your voice, the tones it makes, it sounds so strong, as if it could never go away. But it might, all at once, without warning. Certainly

It's the shadow on every kiss and every dollar, that it might not be there tomorrow.

Love, free as air at sight of human ties, Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies.

Like bubbles on the sea of matter borne, they rise, they break, and to that sea return.

Your death and my death are mainly of importance to ourselves. The black plumes will be stripped off our hearses within the hour; tears will dry, hurt hearts close again, our graves grow level with the church-yard, and although we are away, the world wags on. It does not miss us; and those who are near us, when the first strangeness of vacancy wears off, will not miss us much either.