Quotes About Fleetingness

Like the dew on the mountain,Like the foam on the river,Like the bubble on the fountain,Thou art gone, and forever!

A man who can be entertaining for a full day will be in his grave by night-fall.

Terrestrial happiness is of short duration. The brightness of the flame is wasting its fuel; the fragrant flower is passing away in its own odors.

All that's bright must fade, The brightest still the fleetest; All that's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest.

Oh, how swiftly the glory of the world passes away!

In the face of sorrow, imperfection and the fleetingness of our affections and joys, we ask ourselves 'why?'. We need reassurance. We look to art for the proof that life in this world is meaningful and that suffering is not the pointless thing that it so often appears to be, but the necessary part of a larger and redeeming whole.

Gratitude's got a short half-life, Clarice.

And the vision no sooner dawns than dies blazing into oblivion.

Is there a relative value of beauty? Is evanescence - fleetingness - a necessary element of the thing that most moves us? A shooting star dazzles more than the sun. A child captivates like an elf, but grows into grossness, an ogre, a harpy. A flower splays itself into color - the lilies of the field! - more treasured than any painting of a flower. But of all these things, women's grace, shooting stars, flowers, and paintings, only a painting endures.

Man's pleasure is a short time growing And it falls to the ground As quickly.

Human life is short, we don't exist all that much. A pale brief flicker in the dark.

Even from just a little thing, it's still possible to die.

Amazing how beauty can be so fleeting.

Did he realized nothing would last, that sooner or later every last speck and smidgeon of matter would disapper?

Internet is exemplary for me. I do not want to have the feeling of writing 'for eternity,' so to speak. The fleetingness of the Internet has therefore become very attractive to me.

Sic transit gloria mundi.

This fleetingness of persons who are not known to us, who force us to put out from the harbour of life, in which the women whose society we frequent have all, in course of time, laid bare their blemishes, urges us into that state of pursuit in which there is no longer anything to arrest the imagination. But to strip our pleasures of imagination is to reduce them to their own dimensions, that is to say to nothing.