Quotes About Timeless

In our dreams we are always young.

Whether it's music or fashion, the older I get, I realize what's comfortable lasts longer.

Love lasts forever.

You do the best job you can. You take it step by step. It's hard enough to make a movie. If it works, that's great. If it means something beyond the moment to somebody, they can take it and it lasts through the years, we'll see.

The best music of any era lasts well, I think.

Your legacy lasts forever, the money does not.

I'm a Levi's guy.

It may be that the books that were best liked in your lifetime are not the ones that are best liked 100 years later.

For me, love is endless, and love has no age limit.

I never put a time limit on my dream.

I like George Gervin a lot, even as a guy that played a long time ago.

Effortlessly, I feel like my records have longevity.

When you write a song, a song has longevity.

Your love is your love. It doesn't matter whether you're 18 or 68; there can still be someone that makes you feel that way.

The best thing about art is that it is the one luxury in life that can be enjoyed by everyone. And it lasts forever.

For me, music is a magical life force that has the ability to make me cry, pick me up, and take me back in time.

Makeup can make a woman look more beautiful at every age.

Vanity is as old as the mammoth.

It seemed such a short time ago that Erin had come running toward him, laughing, her black hair like silk around an elfin face. And he'd melted inside just at the sight of her, gone breathless like a boy with his first real date. It still felt like that, despite her scars, her limp. In his heart, he carried a portrait of her that would withstand all the long, aging years, that would leave her young and unscarred for as long as he lived.

Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in ice, that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic. As one tends the graves of the dead, so I tend the books. And every day I open a volume or two, read a few lines or pages, allow the voices of the forgotten dead to resonate inside my head.

We turned into the rose garden where the pruned bushes appeared as piles of dead twigs, but the elaborate borders of box that surrounded them in sinuous Elizabethan patterns twisted in and out of the moonlight, showing here silver, there black. A dozen times I would have lingered—a single ivy leaf turned at an angle to catch the moonlight perfectly; a sudden view of the great oak tree, etched with inhuman clarity against the pale sky—but I could not stop.

They can alter you. All this, even though they are dead. Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in ice, that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic.

It came to me that Hyde Park has never belonged to London - that it has always been , in spirit, a stretch of countryside; and that it links the Londons of all periods together most magically - by remaining forever unchanged at the heart of a ever-changing town.

And then, as I watched the sheep peacefully nibbling the grass, it came to me that Hyde Park has never belonged to any London – that it has always been, in spirit, a stretch of the countryside; and that it thus links the Londons of all periods together most magically – by remaining for ever unchanged at the heart of the ever-changing town.