Quotes About Ephemeral

So my life is a point-counterpoint, a kind of fugue, and a falling away–and everything winds up being lost to me, and everything falls into oblivion, or into the hands of the other man.

The present is the instant in which the future crumbles into the past.

El ejercicio de las letras es misterioso; lo que opinamos es efímero y opto por la tesis platónica de la Musa y no por la de Poe, que razonó, o fingió razonar, que la escritura de un poema es una operación de la inteligencia.

I offer you the memory of a yellow rose seen at sunset, years before you were born.

Si para todo hay término y hay tasa y última vez y nunca más y olvido ¿quién nos dirá de quién en esta casa, sin saberlo, nos hemos despedido?

Aquí también esa desconocida Y ansiosa y breve cosa que es la vida. (Here too the never understood, Anxious, and brief affair that is life.)

What will die with me the day I die? What pathetic or frail image will be lost to the world?

La muerte (o su alusión) hace preciosos y patéticos a los hombres. Estos conmueven por su condición de fantasmas; cada acto que ejecutan puede ser último; no hay rostro que no esté por desdibujarse como el rostro de un sueño. Todo entre los mortales tiene el valor de lo irrecuperable y de lo azaroso.

Decirse adiós es negar la separación, es decir: Hoy jugamos a separarnos pero nos veremos mañana. Los hombres inventaron el adiós porque se saben de algún modo inmortales, aunque se juzguen contingentes y efímeros.

Moartea (ori pomenirea ei) îi face pe oameni preÈ›ioÈ™i È™i patetici. ?i condiÈ›ia lor de fantome te impresioneaz?; orice fapt? pe care o s?vârÈ™esc ar putea s? fie ultima. Nu exist? chip care s? nu se risipeasc? precum chipurile din vis. Pentru muritori, totul se afl? sub pecetea irecuperabilului È™i întâmpl?torului.

One great thing about growing old is that nothing is going to lead to anything. Everything is of the moment.

You can't say life is useless because it ends in the grave.

Stone, steel, dominions pass, Faith too, no wonder; So leave alone the grass That I am under.

The spoken word is ephemeral. The written word, eternal. A symphony, timeless.

Where I am going, nothing of me will remain: yet, I'll drift through the voices of coyotes, drip into florets by a mountain rock.

Especially good spirits might be brought to the Land of Darkness only briefly or not at all.

And yet all things, even strange and wondrous ones, lose their luster with time. They always do.

Six Lines I know that in this world no one needs me, me, a word-beggar in the Jewish graveyard Who needs a poem, especially in Yiddish? Only what is hopeless on this earth has beauty and only the ephemeral is godly and humility is the only true rebellion

What is this slow blue dream of living, and this fevered death by dreaming?

Force is all-conquering, but its victories are short-lived.

Roses would be annoying weeds if the blooms never withered and died. Beauty resides in the knowledge that it doesn't last.

And if beauty is in the ephemeral, what about the beautiful things you can't have? Perhaps that kind of beauty does last forever.

The valley below, the rock underfoot, and the mountain before him will outlast him. On the scale of this land, he is nothing; words like "shame" and "guilt" mean little here; and a reputation is no more than a fleeting blue flame, an evanescent spirit in a brandy glass.

we are merely renting these bodies of ours. You came into this world on an in breath. You will exit on an out breath. Hence, we say that someone has . . . ? 'Expired'!