Quotes About Fleeting

Cyrion in stone was to be a fleeting concept, not a permanent condition.

and even if someone told us we'd forget

For nowadays the world is lit by lightning! Blow out your candles, Laura -- and so goodbye. . . .

Time goes by so fast. Nothin' can outrun it. Death commences too early--almost before you're half-acquainted with life--you meet the other.

The cities swept about me like dead leaves, leaves that were brightly colored but torn away from the branches. I would have stopped, but I was pursued by something. It always came upon me unawares, taking me altogether by surprise. Perhaps it was a familiar bit of music. Perhaps it was only a piece of transparent glass.

We have not long to love. Light does not stay. The tender things are those we fold away. Coarse fabrics are the ones for common wear. In silence I have watched you comb your hair. Intimate the silence, dim and warm. I could but did not, reach to touch your arm. I could, but do not, break that which is still. (Almost the faintest whisper would be shrill.) So moments pass as though they wished to stay. We have not long to love. A night. A day....

he would die early, since nothing so fair could decline by common degrees in a faded season.

But that's life, isn't it? For all we know, each day could be our last. What matters most is the appreciation and gratefullness we should feel for each precious day we have with one another.

But that's life, isn't it? For all we know, each day could be our last.

It has been said ... that a pretty face is a passport. But it's not -- it's a visa, and it runs out fast.

Or maybe, it's just gone. Sometimes things disappear and there's no getting them back. That's just how it is.

A volte scriveva, ma era un'occupazione che lo stancava un po', e poi non concepiva l'idea di gustarsi la gioia di pensare mettendo per iscritto le fantasticherie della mente, a meno che quella fatica non gli avesse permesso di guadagnarsi da vivere. Era convinto che in genere le idee più felici non tollerano di essere espresse, giacché perdono tutta la loro originaria freschezza e appassiscono non appena vengono affidate alla penna. (L'inferno)

Y mirá que apenas nos conocíamos y ya la vida urdía lo necesario para desencontrarnos minuciosamente.

Leemos por placer, y ya se sabe que el placer no tiene buena memoria y casi en seguida busca renovarse en una nueva experiencia placentera igualmente fugitiva.

Apenas nos conocíamos y ya la vida urdía lo necesario para desencontrarnos minuciosamente.

Te prometo una cosa: acordarme de vos a ultimo momento parque sea todavía mas amargo.

No serás más que un recuerdo que morirá con el caer del primer sol.

vienen como todo el resto, se pegan a la vida por un momento y después hay como una ansiedad rencorosa, huecos volcándose para mostrar jirones que se enganchan en cualquier otra cosa...

Ocurre que el tiempo se me huye entre los dedos, no porque lo este perdiendo sino todo lo contrario, porque le pongo tantas cosas adentro que al final se me rompe como la red de Naylon cuando la sobrecargo de naranjas, y me quedo con un monton de piolincitos en la mano y docenas de planetas corriendo por el suelo.

Sus conquistas son como un sueño, las olvida al despertar cuando los aplausos lo traen de vuelta, a él que anda tan lejos viviendo su cuarto de hora de minuto y medio.

animula vagula blandula.

Estúpido —dice Talita besándolo en la oreja—. Esto no va a durar siempre, no va a durar siempre... Esto no debería durar ni un minuto más.

Todas las épocas se terminan y lo mejor es dejar que se desvanezcan en lugar de prolongarlas artificialmente en el tiempo como he visto hacer a muchos ignorando que la naturaleza de éste es precisamente su fugacidad.

Las lágrimas de San Lorenzo no son sólo una metáfora del tiempo. Son sobre todo la prueba de que la vida es apenas una luz en las tinieblas de un universo infinito, pero a la vez tan fugaz como los deseos del hombre.