Quotes About Transience

All I kept thinking about, over and over, was 'You can't live forever; you can't live forever.

Beauty means the scent of roses and then the death of roses

All the bright precious things fade so fast, and they don't come back.

It's just that I feel so sad these wonderful nights. I sort of feel they're never coming again, and I'm not really getting all I could out of them.

Happiness, remarked Maury Noble one day, is only the first hour after the alleviation of some especially intense misery.

He snatched out his hand desperately as if to snatch only a wisp of air, to save a fragment of the spot that she had made lovely for him. But it was all going by too fast now for his burred eyes and he knew that he had lost that part of it, the freshest and the best, forever.

You can't live forever; you can't live forever.

There was nothing, it seemed, that grew stale so soon as pleasure.

I want it to smell of magnolias instead of peanuts and I want my shoes to crunch on the same gravel that Lee's boots crunched on. There's no beauty without poignancy and there's no poignancy without the feeling that it's going, men, names, books, houses--bound for dust--mortal--

I suppose all great happiness is a little sad. Beauty means the scent of roses and then the death of roses—

there's no beauty without poignancy and there's no poignancy without the feeling that it's going, men, names, books, houses--bound for dust--mortal-- a small boy appeared beside them and, swinging a handful of banana peels, flung them valiantly in the direction of the potomac.

All the bright precious things fade so fast.

If truth is the end of life happiness is a mode of it, to be cherished in its brief and tremulous moment.

There's no beauty without poignancy and there's no poignancy without the feeling that it's going, men, names, books, houses—bound for dust—mortal—

But it was all going by too fast now for his blurred eyes and he knew that he had lost that part of it, the freshest and the best, forever.

Such a kiss--it was a flower held against the face, never to be described, scarcely to be remembered; as though her beauty were giving off emanations of itself which settled transiently and already dissolving upon his heart.

She was a thin, a thin burning flame, colorless yet fresh. Her smile came first slowly, shy and bold, as if all the life of that little body had gathered for a moment around her mouth and the rest of her was a wisp that the least wind would blow away. She was a changeling whose lips were the only point of contact with reality.

If truth is the end of life, happiness is the mode of it, to be cherished in its brief and tremulous moment.

Beautiful things grow to a certain height and then they fail and fade off, breathing out memories as they decay.

Solo son cenizas flotando

Beauty and love pass, I know... Oh, there's sadness, too. I suppose all great happiness is a little sad. Beauty means the scent of roses and then the death of roses--

And courage to me meant ploughing through that dull gray mist that comes down on life—not only overriding people and circumstances but overriding the bleakness of living. A sort of insistence on the value of life and the worth of transient things.

How arrogant you are To think your wretched Self so singular! The disappointments of this world will die In less time than the blinking of an eye, And as the earth must pass, pass by the earth Don't even glance at it, know what it's worth; What empty foolishness it is to care For what must one day be dispersed to air!

The world of dew is, yes, a world of dew, but even so