Quotes About Transience

That's the thing about life; everything feels so permanent, but you can disappear in an instant.

I'm porous with travel fever But you know I'm so glad to be on my own Still somehow the slightest touch of a stranger Can set up trembling in my bones. I know no one's going to show me everything We all come and go unknown Each so deep and superficial Between the forceps and the stone.

Tem certas flores, você já reparou?, que são belas e perfumadas enquanto estão nos galhos, nos jardins. Levadas pros jarros, mesmo jarros de prata, ficam murchas e morrem.

Degli scrupoli di coscienza (impiccianti e ingiustificati)" "Paasioni, relazioni, fiamme, amorazzi rapidi o prolungati, romantici o lascivi, non sono altro, tutti quanti, che avventure passeggere, il che non impedisce che ciascuno di loro sia, a un dato momento, l'amore esclusivo, unico, definitivo e immortale

Hay ciertas flores, ¿ya lo ha notado?, que son hermosas y perfumadas mientras están en los tallos, en los jardines. Cuando se las pone en jarrones, aunque sean de plata, se marchitan y mueren.

Todo tiene sentido, pero yo me apagaré y nada importará. Efectivamente. No somos ni una anécdota. ¿Para qué preocuparse tanto? Mamíferos efímeros en un pedazo de piedra perdida en la inmensidad.

Let the dozing soul remember,let the mind awake and revive by contemplatinghow our life goes by so swiftlyand how our death comes near so silently;how quickly pleasure fades,and how when it is recalled it give us pain,how we seem always to thinkthat times past must have been better than today.

Nuestra vida son los ríos que van a dar en la mar, que es el morir;

There is a feeling the body gives the mind of having missed something, a bedrock poverty, like falling without the sense that you are passing through one world, that you could reach another anytime. Instead the real is crossing you, your body an arrival you know is false but can't outrun. And somewhere in between these geese forever entering and these spiders turning back, this astonishing delay, the everyday, takes place.

The permanent is ebbing. Is leaving nothing in the way of trails, they are blown over, grasses shoot up, life disturbing life…

Andrés palpó la gasa delicadamente, llevándola hacia la ventana para mirar la luz que hería el recamado. Estuvo largo rato pensativo, examinando ese objeto vivo aún pero a punto de expirar, extendido levísimo en sus brazos, brillante en medio de todo el polvo.

KüçüÄŸüm hayat böyledir insanlar hep çekip giderler.

tenía ya esa despreocupación, esa indescifrable indiferencia de los que se van a morir algunos meses después.

nada es fijo ni permanece inmóvil en el trémulo corazón del hombre.

Whatever has the nature to arise has the nature to cease.

All things arise when the appropriate conditions are present, and all things pass away as conditions change. Behind the process, there is no "self" who is running the show.

Figure, movement. Everything happens, says Pascal, from figure and movement. To say in this case that everything happens from movement, for every figure is no more than the lingering trace of a movement that has already ceased. Thus the letters that I am forming now, for example, are only the pen's lingering trace of the movement of my hand.

A moving shadow means more to us than a body at rest. We are no longer taken in by a fixed grin. We know that only death has a rictus.

Si el universo es pasajero, es fácil pensar que la vida humana carece de sentido. ¿Por qué tendría que hacer nada en absoluto?

So now you have to live the rest of your life knowing you're going to die someday and disappear forever.

I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine.

There we understood that our vocation, our true vocation, was to move for eternity along the roads and seas of the world. Always curious, looking into everything that came before our eyes, sniffing out each corner but only ever faintly — not setting down roots in any land or staying long enough to see the substratum of things; the outer limits would suffice.

like a delicate butterfly to us, who, carefree and exhilarated, fluttered right into the lamp of life, scorching her fine wings. uns jedoch ein zarter Schmetterling, der, sorglos beschwingt, an der Leuchte des Lebens seine feinen Flügel vor der Zeit verflattert und versengt hat

We must die without much delay, and corpses may not require such expansive wrappings, in order to go the way of all flesh.