Quotes About Transience

An oblong puddle inset in the coarse asphalt; like a fancy footprint filled to the brim with quicksilver; like a spatulate hole through which you can see the nether sky. Surrounded, I note, by a diffuse tentacled black dampness where some dull dun dead leaves have stuck. Drowned, I should say, before the puddle had shrunk to its present size.

The days of my youth, as I look back on them; seem to fly away from me in a flurry of pale repetitive scraps like those morning snow storms of used tissue paper that a train passenger sees whirling in the wake of the observation can.

A wave would arrive, all out of breath, but, as it had nothing to report, it would disperse in apologetic salaams.

For we die every day; oblivion thrives Not on dry thighbones but on blood-ripe lives, And our best yesterdays are now foul piles Of crumpled names, phone numbers and foxed files.

We loved - and it has all gone, somewhere... We loved - and now our love is frozen, and now it lies, one wing spread out, raising its little feet - a dead sparrow on the damp gravel... But we loved... we flew...

A real hansom-cab took him from the station to Trinity College: the vehicle, it seemed, had been waiting there especially for him, desperately holding out against extinction till that moment, and then gladly dying out to join side whiskers and the Large Copper.

Ez a "most" az egyetlen realitás, amit ismerünk; a már-nem színes semmijét követi, és a jövÅ' abszolút semmijét elÅ'zi meg. Így egészen szó szerinti értelemben mondhatjuk, hogy a tudatos emberi élet mindig csak egy pillanatig tart, mert a saját tudatáramunkra irányuló szándékos figyelem egyetlen pillanatában sem tudhatjuk, hogy követi-e újabb pillanat.

A soap bubble is as real as a fossil tooth.

Freedom for the moment is everything

The days of my youth, as I look back on them, seem to fly away from me in a flurry of pale repetitive scraps like those morning snow storms of used tissue paper that a train passenger sees whirling in the wake of the observation car.

Alas, the objects I had assembled wander away. The young poplar dims and takes off to return where it had been fetched from. The brick wall dissolves. The house draws in its little balconies one by one, then turns, and floats away. Everything floats away. Harmony and meaning vanish. The world irks me again with its variegated void.

Retake the falling snow: each drifting flake Shapeless and slow, unsteady and opaque, A dull dark white against the day's pale white And abstract larches in the neutral light.

Nuestra existencia no es mas qué un cortocircuito de luz entre dos eternidades de oscuridad.

so that beautiful idea, which otherwise would have lingered on and perhaps found a wall on which to hang and blossom, had strangely faded and shrivelled in the course of the last week.

The orange blossom would have scarcely withered on the grave', as a poet might have said. But I am not poet. I am only a very conscientious recorder.

A violent wind does not last for a whole morning...

After all, beauty has only three possible endings, & only one of them is bearable.

The naked human body is the grave in blossom: it is both Sad & instructive.

Each heart has its graveyard, each household its dead, And knells ring around us wherever we tread, And the feet that awhile made our pathway so bright Pass on to a land that is out of our sight.

Ya?ay?p bitirdi?i her günün, tutulmaz bir ku? olup uçtu?una, yava? yava? gözden silinip bir küçük kara noktaya dönü?tü?üne karar verdi. Gözünü yumdu?unda her yan?n? saran karanl???n, bu küçük kara noktalardan olu?tu?unu ke?fetti.

You can't ever really have enough worth that when you're gone, the spot you left won't close over.

It is some water lilies and a skull in a decorative pond, and a tiny goldfish swimming like an animated change-purse made of brightness and surprises observing the moment through its empty eye.

I was there, where the pale words, like light on a wave. Where the forgotten music was still played. The lovers, gone. Their beds unmade.

Funny how you notice how beautiful things are just when you're about to leave them, she thought.