Quotes About Transience

A man is a little soul carrying around a courpse.

...small too even the longest fame thereafter, which is itself subject to a succession of little men who quickly die, and have no knowledge of themselves, let alone of those long dead.

Every man's life is a train made of straw which tries to move on a track made of fire! The very next stop is ashes and dust.

As long as death exists, men will continue to exist only as a shadow, not a real thing!

The moment when a man's head drops off is seldom or never, I am inclined to think, precisely the most agreeable of his life.

The world leaves no track in space, and the greatest action of man no mark in the vast idea.

Remember the coffin where men All must to dust be returning.

When a man dies he kicks the dust.

The changing year's successive plan Proclaims mortality to man.

You are going to end up as one of those sad old men who poke around in rubbish bins." "I'm going to end up in a hole in the ground... And so are you. So are we all.

Isn't man but a blossom taken by wind, and only the mountains and the sea and the stars and this land of the gods everlasting?

If I say to the moment: 'Stay now! You are so beautiful'!

Everything you gather is just one that you can lose.

Matters of the heart are important to me. All this materialism and all the money and wealth are things that you don't take to the grave. One day you have it. The next day you don't.

Human life is as evanescent as the morning dew or a flash of lightning.

Life is fragile, like the dew hanging delicately on the grass, crystal drops that will be carried away on the first morning breeze.

Your body is like a dew-drop on the morning grass, your life is as brief as a flash of lightning. Momentary and vain, it is lost in a moment.

Strong winds do not last all morning, hard rains do not last all day.

This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival. Welcome and entertain them all!

Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew, She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven.

My life is like the summer rose That opens to the morning sky, But ere the shades of evening close Is scattered on the ground - to die.

The morning glory which blooms for an hour differs not at heart from a giant pine that lives for a thousand years.

Life is short and love is over in the morning.

In a dream thou mayst live a lifetime, and all be forgotten in the morning: Even such is life, and so soon perisheth its memory.