Quotes About Transience

Perhaps the best cure for the fear of death is to reflect that life has a beginning as well as an end.

I am so thrilled by the privilege of life, and yet at the same time I know that I have to let it go.

Modeling was so fleeting it doesn't count in my life scheme.

Life is an illusion that last too little.

Our children are for life our friends are here for the moment.

Life is beautiful because it doesn't last.

Every life is finite, Will.

That's what life is about: People come and go.

human relationships simply aren't durable. I think back to the women in my life. they seem non-existent.

We're all tourists, sort of. Life is tourism, sort of. As far as I'm concerned, the dinosaurs still hold the lease on this godforsaken rock.

Think, in this batter'd CaravanseraiWhose Portals are alternate Night and Day,How Sultan after Sultan with his PompAbode his destin'd Hour, and went his way.

Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,Before we too into the Dust descend;Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie,Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and—sans End!

My thoughts are like butterflies. They are beautiful, but they fly away." After treatment he said, "Now I can put a net around the butterflies.

My thoughts are like butterflies. They are beautiful, but they fly away.

Our birth is nothing but our death begun, As tapers waste the moment they take fire.

To think that a man Has but fifty years to live under heaven. Surely this world Is nothing but a vain dream. Living but one life, Is there anything that does not decay?

You'll find, my friend, that in the gutters of this floating world, much of the trash consists of fallen flowers.

I come and go. An edible saint. But if you feast on me you will be hungry.

You can't get sentimental about houses. Or bodies. They're just, I don't know, the Tupperware of the soul.

In the woods the bluebells seem Like a blue and magic dream, Blue water, light and air Flow among them there. But the eager girl who pulls Bluebells up in basketfuls When she gets them home will find The magic left behind.

I let his rose wither in a vase on my desk, a vase painfully empty of flowers since the long-ago time when, on my birthday, Mario would give me a cattleya, in imitation of Swann. In the evening the flower was already black and bent on its stem. I threw it in the trash.

Vi imagens rápidas e apagadas na minha cabeça, frase inteiras pronunciadas rapidamente, um sussurro. Me dei conta de que não vinham corretamente os tempos verbais, culpa daquele despertar desordenado. O tempo é um respiro, pensei, hoje sou eu, daqui a pouco minha filha, tinha acontecido com a minha mãe, com todas as minhas antepassadas, talvez ainda acontecesse a elas — a elas e a mim, simultaneamente, acontecerá.

Alles bewoog. De vuurzee onder de aardkorst, de ovens van de sterren, en de planeten, en de universa, en het licht in de duisternis, en de stilte in de ijskou. Maar ik voelde...dat angst er bij mij niet in slaagde wortel te schieten. Alles wat op me afkwam –…– zou voorbijgaan en ik –... Ã¢â'¬â€œ, ik zou overeind blijven, ik was de punt van de passer die altijd stilstaat terwijl het potlood eromheen draait en cirkels trekt.

Le parole vanno raramente al posto giusto, e solo per un tempo brevissimo. Per il resto servono a parlare a vanvera, come adesso. O a fingere che sia tutto sotto controllo.