Quotes About Transience

Yes- I must own it- I am bright-tonight: cheerful and more than cheerful- so much so that I am almost sad again with the sense that all of it passing away. And sometimes, when I am excessively hopeful and blithe , a trouble is looming in the distance: so that I often get to look upon gloom in me with content, and to fear a happy mood. Still this maybe be absurd- I feel that it is absurd. Perhaps my day is dawning at last

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

Pachelbel's Canon filled the sun-drowned room where they learned each other and even then the fear flickered across him like an osprey's shadow: This is too good to live for long.

In the environment, every victory is temporary, every defeat permanent.

Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes.

The sweetness of love is short-lived, but the pain endures.

El trajecte serà curt, pensava. Tant de bo durés sempre!

?aden nastrój nie mo?e oprze? siÄ™ zwyciÄ™sko biegowi godzin.

thought Aschenbach. He's probably not long for this world. And he refused to analyze a certain feeling of satisfaction, or reassurance, which accompanied this thought. He

We cannot possess things–we die and they are lost, or they are stolen, or they perish. But more than that, we ourselves cannot even enjoy the things themselves. To think we can is idolatry.

O great God, Father of all things, Whose infinite light is darkness to me Whose immensity is to me as the void, You have called me forth out of yourself because You love me in yourself, and I am a transient expression of Your inexhaustible and eternal reality. I could not know You, I would be lost in this darkness, I would fall away from You into this void, if You did not hold me to Yourself in the Heart of Your only begotten Son.

Doc remembered how Polaroids have no negatives and the life of the prints is limited. These, he noticed, were already beginning to shift color and fade.

Doc followed the prints of her bare feet already collapsing into rain and shadow, as if in a fool's attempt to find his way back into a past that despite them both had gone on into the future it did. The surf, only now and then visible, was hammering at his spirit, knocking things loose, some to fall into the

Death glided by, shadowless, among the empties on the grass.

In the buses all night she listened to transistor radios playing songs in the lower stretches of the Top 200, that would never become popular, whose melodies and lyrics would perish as if they had never been sung. A Mexican girl, trying to hear one of these through snarling static from the bus's motor, hummed along as if she would remember it always, tracing post horns and hearts with a fingernail, in the haze of her breath on the window.

Doc followed the prints of her bare feet already collapsing into rain and shadow, as if in a fool's attempt to find his way back into a past that despite them both had gone on into the future it did. The surf, only now and then visible, was hammering at his spirit, knocking things loose, some to fall into the dark and be lost forever, some to edge into the fitful light of his attention whether he wanted to see them or not.

Rachel was looking into the mirror at an angle of 45°, and so had a view of the face turned toward the room and the face on the other side, reflected in the mirror; here were time and reverse-time, co-existing, cancelling one another exactly out. Were there many such reference points, scattered through the world, perhaps only at nodes like this room which housed a transient population of the imperfect, the dissatisfied [...]

Oh, how quickly things changed! Why didn't happiness last for ever? For ever wasn't a bit too long.

In the forest, in the forest, silence had cast a spell over all things. She plucked a great bouquet of daffodils and snowdrops, and tenderly held them to her, and tenderly kissed their fresh spring faces. She did not sing at all, but sat silent, expectant, and wondering, till her flowers faded and withered in her hands.

Ölü insanlar?n fotoÄŸraflar? neden hep böyle soluk oluyor, diye merak etti Josephine. Bir insan ölür ölmez fotoÄŸraf? da ölüyordu.

Sometimes it seemed to him that his life was delicate as a dandelion. One little puff from any direction, and it was blown to bits.

This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival. A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor…. Be grateful for whatever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond. RUMI

You begin to know that life is transient, and even at its longest, far too short.

Even then I'd begun to think—and to push away the thought—that committing oneself to being fashionable was simultaneously committing oneself to being perishable.