Quotes About Transience

las palabras bonitas como las mujeres bonitas se arrugan y mueren.

I am tired of waiting on life, it was so slow to arrive and so quick to leave.

bulls strut in pinwheel glory, rockets stun the sky, but I don't know quite what to make of the dead flowers of myself, whether to dump them out of the bowl or press them between these blank pages and go on; well, all grief comes down to hard death and weeping finally ends. thank the god who made it.

and I look up at the window and think, I no longer know where you are, and I walk on and wonder where the living goes when it stops.

Like a painting, we will be erased. Like a flower, we will dry up here on earth. Like plumed vestments of the precious bird, That precious bird with the agile neck, We will come to an end.

the boy saw faces disinigrate before his eyes, faces that fell to pieces, then disappeared, leaving a hole.

I won't go into it any further, other than to say that year by year the world darkens down and things are always going away.

I don't even know whether past feelings and memories deserve any respect at all. Maybe they're no more important than a pinch of pain from an injury decades old. Feelings and memories rise and pass every day, like the weather. Only important at the moment. Why not just notice them and let them go?

NOBODIES HAVE LASTING SIGNIFICANCE

the beasts that perish

The life of this world is wind Windblown we come, and windblown we go away. All that we look on is windfall. All we remember is wind.

We disappear as stars do, soundless, without a trace.

as the world forgets you; as you recognize your transience; as you begin to lose your characteristics one by one; as you learn there is no-one watching you, and there never was, you think only about driving - not coming from any place; not arriving any place. Just driving, counting off time. Now you are here, at 7:43. Now you are here, at 7:44. Now you are... Gone.

life seems to shorten itself, and all of a sudden

We are mortal. Nothing that touches us or we touch here is forever. Even rocks are rubbed small by the river.

We are mortal. Nothing that touches us or we touch here is forever. Even rocks are rubbed small by the river. [Mary Deerfield]

Exhibitions are kind of ephemeral moments, sometimes magic moments, and when they're gone, they're gone.

I don't have a home. I'm on the road, more or less.

When I'm sitting around, I'm thinking about how I can make my next professional career move, but more than anything, I'm thinking about the meaning of life and how fleeting it is.

It was despairing to find out that I am mortal.

I think that there is something beautiful about mortality. It makes our decisions mean more.

You realize mortality is everywhere.

It's always been intriguing to me, the loveability of mortality.

Mortality applies to every aspect of life. The fear of death is the driving fear of life.