Quotes About Transience

I would remain nearer you for what time there is." "Gone in one faerie sigh," she quoted. Leather-clad fingers brushed over her short hair, rested on her cheek. "I can hold my breath.

Waves tossed themselves against the shore, dragging grit and sand between their nails as they were slowly pulled back out to sea.

We die. Think of us like shooting stars, brief but bright.

You come from nothing, and it is to nothing you will return,¨ he whispers against my neck. ( judes dream ) Page 48

We walk, fading stars overhead, brine in the air.

It'll rot,' I say. 'And so will we.

You are mortal. You will not last long.' ... 'That's what mortal means,' I say with a sigh that I don't have to fake. 'We die. Think of us like shooting stars, brief but bright.

Words like winter snowflakes.

Any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.

The living is a passing traveler; The dead, a man come home.

One brief journey betwixt heaven and earth, Then, alas! we are the same old dust of ten thousand ages.

Heart's fragrance is spent with the ending of spring And nothing left but a tear-stained robe.

And a moment that ought to have lasted for ever Has come and gone before I knew.

Time of meeting, time of parting, winds fade and flowers wait. Time drug until we met, even more in parting, Spring winds fade, but the flowers are waiting.

Death comes suddenly and life is fragile and brief. No one can alter this, either by prayers or spells. Children cry about it, but men and women do not cry. They have to endure.

My point is that things become weird and pointless if you examine them for too long.

things become weird and pointless if you examine them for too long.

Perry was away often. He sometimes felt like an aberration in her life. A visitor. Her real life took place when he wasn't there. What happened never mattered all that much because he was always about to leave, the next day or the next week.

What happened never mattered all that much because he was always about to leave,

A few years hence and he will be beneath the sod; but those cliffs will stand, as now, facing the ocean, incessantly lashed by its waves, yet unshaken, immovable; and other eyes will gaze on them for their brief day of life, and then they, too, will close.

sometimes, if you're sincere about what you have to say, if you want to communicate the full force of human emotions like grief and longing and gratitude, you try writing and then realize that your words are just as transient as you are, that they always fail you when you need them most, and that if they can't serve their purpose and convey meaning perfectly—if they can't reach the unborn and the dead—then they're better off buried or burned.2

I was always holding onto people, and they were always leaving.

It's not here anymore," he said. "What?" "What happened." "Then where is it?" "It's gone. It's over. You can't find it, stroke it, coo over it. Time has stolen it away like it fucking steals everything. In rare instances, like yours, that can be a good thing.

In the physical world we know, nothing lasts forever – a thought I find strangely comforting.