Quotes About Ephemeral

Traduire le vent invisible par l'eau qu'il sculpte en passant.

But pleasures are like poppies spread—You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed;Or like the snow falls in the river—A moment white—then melts forever.

We're as ephemeral as raindrops. We all fall, and we all land somewhere.

We are as ephemeral as rain drops.

Let us look at the pedestrians in any busy city and realize that in ninety years it is likely that none of them will be alive, including us. Think of the millions and billions who have already come and gone, buried and long forgotten, rich and poor alike.

Isn't an awareness of their transience what gives these moments their exquisite edge?

Men, Thom murmured. Men who shook the pillars of heaven and rocked the world on its foundations. He shook his head. It doesn't matter. Forget about them. They are dust now.

He came like the wind, like the wind touched everything, and like the wind was gone.

The rumpled bed was the only proof that anyone had stayed here. Already the room had lost the feel of him; it even seemed to smell empty, despite his own scent on the sheets. He never stayed anywhere long enough to make that feel cling past his readiness to leave. Never long enough to put down roots, make it any kind of home.

Death is lighter than a feather. Death arrives in a heartbeat, no more tangible than a flicker of light. It has no weight, no substance.

We sometimes have a flash of understanding that amounts to the insight of genius, and yet it slowly withers, even in our hands - like a flower. The form remains, but the colours and the fragrance are gone.

They came and they went; they ached and pained. They laughed privately and cried to themselves as if heeding a way- off silent call. They were forever childish, sweet and convulsive. They heard sound the way dog heard sound. They were like the moon- they changed every eight days.

Karena hal-hal yang dapat dilihat dapat berakhir, tetapi hal-hal yang tidak terlihat tetap abadi. -Anne-

You see that in a certain sense content doesn't matter, because whatever it is passes away.

Så egendomligt overklig denna våning redan hade blivit! Det var inte en våning där någon bodde, utan en bild av en våning där någon hade bott. Precis som Goethehuset i Weimar eller August Strindbergs arbetsrum på Drottninggatan. En våning kunde bli en bild av sig själv när den inte längre var befolkad. Den var densamma som förut. Men den hade stelnat till bild.

We do not disappear without a trace. We leave a wake that never quite disappears, a gash in time that we so laboriously leave behind us.

Gather ye roses while ye may

Funny how you notice how beautiful things are just when you're about to leave them.

It was all real and blazing with detail. But I was shadow, light as mist, mute as the wallpaper.

If I could turn into a wisp of smoke, I could slip into them and disappear.

Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides.

Natural beauty is essentially temporary and sad, hence the impression of obscene mockery which artificial flowers give us.

I leave no trace of wings in the air, but I am glad I have had my flight.

But they never last, the golden days. And it can be sad, the sun in the afternoon, can't it? Yes, it can be sad, the afternoon sun, sad and frightening.