Quotes About Transience

Webs are made mostly of spaces. They break easily. They barely exist. They belong to the category of half-things: mist, smoke, shrouds, ghosts, membranes, retinas or rags; and they quickly fill up with un-things: old legs and wings and heads and hollow abdomens and body bags of wasps.

Playwrights have texts, composers have scores, painters and sculptors have the residue of those activities, and dance is traditionally an ephemeral, effervescent, here-today-gone-tomorrow kind of thing.

I'm really thankful for the popularity of 'Strong Woman Do Bong Soon,' but I know it's only temporary.

You want to know the secret of life? It is to breathe in and out. And the mystery of life? You never know when it is going to end.

Theater dates very quickly.

The perfection in theater is that it's over the second it's done.

Theatre is the art form of the present: it exists only in the present, and then it's gone.

I like the ephemeral thing about theatre, every performance is like a ghost - it's there and then it's gone.

What I love about theatre is that it disappears as it happens.

Theatre is castigated for wallowing in self-indulgence, but it's curiously unsentimental. You simply have to move on. Everything passes. Something in me likes that.

Nothing lasts, even this awesome floaty feeling. We all reach for whatever we think is going to dull the pain, and sometimes we don't even want whatever it is, we just want to not be miserable, you know?

There's a specific energy to different moments, and once you lose it, it can't be recaptured. You've got to record it, or you've got nothing.

The Latham Time Warp. Sometimes a day last an hour, and sometimes it lasts a year.

We come. We go. And in between we try to understand.

There are no guarantees. But there is also nothing to fear. We come from oblivion when we are born. We return to oblivion when we die. The astonishing thing is this period of in-between.

Life is a fragile hybrid throbbing, at each instant, between being and nothingness.

Wir waren die, die verschwanden. Wir lebten als der Mensch, der sich in der Tür umdreht, noch etwas sagen will, aber nichts mehr zu sagen hat.

It's not that we have to quit this life one day, but it's how many things we have to quit all at once: music, laughter, the physics of falling leaves, automobiles, holding hands, the scent of rain, the concept of subway trains... if only one could leave this life slowly!

It's not that we have to quit this life one day, it's how many things we have to quit all at once: holding hands, hotel rooms, music, the physics of falling leaves, vanilla and jasmine, poppies, smiling, anthills, the color of the sky, coffee and cashmere, literature, sparks and subway trains... If only one could leave this life slowly!

The lot of the bride to be wed before bed desired until rotten. The lot of the author to be read before bed admired then forgotten.

I care not that this moment's lot was thin and sparsely dealt; all pleasures sweet can be forgot the instant they are felt.

It's not that we have to leave this life one day, it's how many things we have to leave all at once: holding hands, hotel rooms, wine, summertime, drunkenness, and the physics of falling leaves, clothing, myrrh, perfumed hair, flirting friends, two strangers' glance; the reflection of the moon, with words like, 'Soon' ... 'do you want me?' ... '...to lie enlaced' ... 'and sleep entwined' thinking ahead, with thoughts behind...?' Ô, Why! Why can't we leave this life slowly?

Your living or dying is just a piss in the ocean.

whether we is rich or poor or somethin in between, this earth ain't no final restin place. So in a way, we is all homeless—just workin our way toward home.