Quotes About Fleeting

When someone's been gone a long time, at first you save up all the things you want to tell them. You try to keep track of everything in your head. But it's like trying to hold on to a fistful of sand: all the little bits slips out of your hands, and then you're just clutching air and grit. That's why can't save them up like that.

Jag undrade om det var så här gamla förälskelser dog. Att luften gick ur dem och sedan ... bara borta.

You didn't have to say it was gone. It was gone before it got outta here. It was gonna that fast.

The trouble with miracles is, they don't last long.

We deceive ourselves into thinking life is long, but fire reminds us—it is a flickering. Life is a flickering—and then it is gone. So, we must make the most of it.

The best way to lose a woman was to show her a kind of life that one could offer her for only a few days.

Beyond this our life did not extend. And of this nothing remains.

Mes amžinai pamirštam, kad gyvenam šitoje planetoje tik trump? laik?. Tod?l ir ?sigyjame absoliu?iai klaiding? pasaulio kompleks?. Lyg b?tue žmon?s, kuriems b?t? duota gyventi amžinai.

To jedna z tych chwil, kiedy barwy siÄ™ rozpadajÄ…, a ?ycie szarzeje w bezsilnych dÅ'oniach. Mistyczny odpÅ'yw. Bezd?wiÄ™czna cezura miÄ™dzy oddechami. UkÄ…szenie czasu, który powoli po?era serce.

Kiekvien? akimirk? jau?iame, kad negalime laim?s išlaikyti, ir n? nebandome <...> Bet jeigu mes nem?giname su?iupti jos ir sutur?ti savo šiurkš?iomis rankomis, tai gal ji, niekieno nebaidoma, išlieka m?s? aki? gilumoje? Gal ji išlieka ten, kol gyvos tos akys?

Everyone chats and smiles, chats about nothing, shouts and drinks themselves silly occasionally or all the time. They they die one fine day, old or young, they die, tucked up into the earth. That's what it's like. Swarming lives, with no meaning, no number.

Beneath the gore and smoke and loam, this book is about the evanescence of life, and why some men choose to fill their brief allotment of time engaging the impossible, others in the manufacture of sorrow.

Such peaceful intervals never lasted long.

things which seem frightfully important at the time have a habit of fading into insignificance. Events are like telephone poles, streaming back past the observation platform of a speeding train. They loom large at first, then melt into the distance, becoming so tiny they finally disappear altogether…. That's the way with nearly all of the things we think are so vital.

We both touched wood on the cafe table and the waiter came to see what it was we wanted. But what we wanted he, nor anyone else, nor knocking on wood or on marble, as this cafe table-top was, could ever bring us. But we did not know it that night and we were very happy.

You want everything so much and when you get it it's over and you don't give a damn.

What you have with Maria, whether it lasts just through today and a part of tomorrow, or whether it lasts for a long life is the most important thing that can happen to a human being. There will always be people who say it does not exist because they cannot have it. But I tell you it is true and that you have it and that you are lucky even if you die tomorrow.

We both touched wood on the café table and the waiter came to see what it was we wanted. But what we wanted not he, nor anyone else, nor knocking on wood or marble, as this café table-top was, could ever bring us. But we did not know it that night and we were very happy.

We both touched wood on the café table and the wait came to see what it was we wanted. But what we wanted not he, nor anyone else, nor knocking on wood or marble, as this café table-top was, could ever bring us. But we did not know it that night and we were very happy.

Maybe I have had all my life in three days, he thought. If that's true I wish we would have spent the last night differently. But last nights are never any good. Last nothings are any good.

A country, finally, erodes and the dust blows away, the people all die and none of them were of any importance permanently, except those who practised the arts, and these now wish to cease their work because it is too lonely, too hard to do, and is not fashionable.

The light of memory, or rather the light that memory lends to things, is the palest light of all…I am not quite sure whether I am dreaming or remembering, whether I have lived my life or dreamed it. Just as dreams do, memory makes me profoundly aware of the unreality, the evanescence of the world, a fleeting image in the moving water

But at my back I always hearTime's winged chariot hurrying near;And yonder all before us lieDeserts of vast eternity.

But at my back I always hear Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near