Quotes About Transience

Muchos poetas han escrito que pasamos por el mundo como peregrinos, que la vida no es más que un viaje. Una viajera anónima del siglo XVI escribía en sus notas <>.

What is life It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the winter time.

What is life It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.

What is life? It is a flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.

But religions are only temporarily successful attempts to cope with the lack of meaning in life; they are not permanent answers.

We humans may think of ourselves as solid objects, all flesh and bone. But take a close look, and it's clear our bodies are composed largely of oxygen and hydrogen. We are essentially ephemeral – akin as much to wind water, and fire as to earth.

atomic motions cause the waxing and waning of rivers, so too do they produce the transient body that you—whatever "you" means—currently inhabit before its substance flows back into the great global sea of atoms. Consider, then, the particles that are departing your body at this very moment. There is no need to wait for death to scatter you to the winds, waters, and soils of the world. It is already happening.

the flower gardens. And it will be the last chance

Words today are like the shells and rope of seaweed which a child brings home glistening from the beach and which in an hour have lost their luster.

Contemporary books do not keep. The quality in them which makes for their success is the first to go; they turn over night. – Cyril Connolly

We are an echo that runs, skittering, through a train of rooms

May the gentle mountains and the bells of the flocksRemind us of everything we have lost,For we have seen on our way and fallen in loveWith the world that will pass in a twinkling.

O my love, where are they, where are going The flash of a hand, streak of movement, rustle of pebbles. I ask not out of sorrow, but in wonder. [from Encounter]

We only seem to learn from Life that Life doesn't matter so much as it seemed to do -- it's not so burningly important, after all, what happens. We crawl, like blinking sea-creatures, out of the Ocean onto a spur of rock, we creep over the promontory bewildered and dazzled and hurting ourselves, then we drop in the ocean on the other side: and the little transit doesn't matter so much.

For all the sirens, game-show buzzers, and drum-rolls of life, it is the nature of men to die quietly.

Nothing in this world is permanent-neither sorrow nor joy-and only a foolish person would ask for permanence. We don't stand still, thought Robert. We are travellers upon the path of life.

It's a beautiful idea to focus on how everything is temporary and always in flux. It may feel bad now, but it will feel good later, and vice versa. To write about those things brings this satisfying feeling as a creative person.

TV happens. And once it's happened, it's gone. When it's gone, you move on, no tears, no tantrums, no videotape.

I'm insane for you, Amy. 'Like' lasted all of ten minutes.

If you look closely and objectively, it becomes clear that life is just one big revolving door of people: some who matter, some who don't. Some that matter until they don't.

Traveling is like flirting with life. It's like saying, 'I would stay and love you, but I have to go; this is my station.

All things pass, suga' pea. All the things a this worl' got a time for bornin' and time for dyin', and a time for troublin' and a time for restin'. Ssshhh

Be in this world as if you are a traveller, a passer-by, with your clothes and shoes full of dust. Sometimes you sit under the shade of a tree, sometimes you walk in the desert. Be always a passer-by, for this is not home. – Hadith of the Prophet

How beautiful the days, They come and go.