Quotes About Permanence

Tardó un poco en decir algo. Pensaba en la misteriosa permanencia del amor, en la corriente nunca quieta de la vida.

Guardava quella casa, davanti a sé, e pensava alla misteriosa permanenza delle cose nella corrente mai ferma della vita. Stava pensando che ogni volta, vivendo con loro, si finisce per lasciare su di loro come una mano leggera di vernice, la tinta di certe emozioni destinate a scolorare, sotto il sole, in ricordi.

In her experience, the places one set off for were usually still there no matter when one arrived; it would be different, naturally enough, if towns, villages, houses moved—then one might have a real reason to hurry—but they did not.

Darconville drew it all out to this paradox, that on the one hand there are temporary beings whom we love but are ever changing, and beyond them there is the eternal object of love itself which is incorruptible, permanent, and ideal. And yet it is not only through the former that we can take cognizance of the latter, we would, without the former, actually have no idea of the latter, the imperfect relative giving us our only idea of the perfect absolute...

If there is a change, there must be some thing that changes, yet does not change

La solución bíblica, simple y permanente Entonces, ¿cuál es la solución simple a la rutina aburrida de decir siempre las mismas cosas acerca de lo mismo de siempre? Aquí está: Cuando ores, ora a través de un pasaje de las Escrituras, de manera particular a través de un salmo.

We buy things. We wear them or put them on our walls, or sit on them, but anyone who wants to can take them away from us. Or break them. ... Long after he's dead, someone else will own those stupid little boxes, and then someone after him, just as someone owned them before he did. But no one ever thinks of that: objects survive us and go on living. It's stupid to believe we own them. And it's sinful for them to be so important.

Lampedusa had it right—things had to seem to change so that things could remain the same.

The future and eternity are two entirely different things.

Life would be a great deal easier if dead things had the decency to remain dead.

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, moves on: nor all thy piety nor wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line, nor all thy tears wash out a word of it." —Omar Khayyam

La sensación de que el yo es permanente se deriva de la existencia de patrones coherentes que son recurrentes y de gran duración temporal. La recurrencia, predictibilidad y coherencia temporal de estos patrones se interpreta como evidencia de que existe un yo fijo y permanente, cuando, en realidad, solamente se trata de un proceso con ciertas características invariantes pero nunca con una existencia concreta e inamovible.

What is built on sand sooner or later would tumble down.

Your actions in passing, pass not away, for every good work is a grain of seed for eternal life.

Brothers, what we do in life........echoes in eternity.

The temples perish, but the God still lives.

Life may be treacherous, but you can always depend on death.

The hard thing about death is that nothing ever changes. The hard thing about life is that nothing stays the same.

....the sea changes color, but the sea does not change.

What a miserable life is this! There is no happiness that is secure and nothing that does not change.

If our view is limited to mortal life, some things become unbearable because they seem so unfair and so permanent.

Permanence can only be found in the immortality offered by the click of a camera. Like it or not, life moves on as fleetingly as the photograph is enduring.

Movies are not about the weekend that they're released, and in the grand scheme of things, that's probably the most unimportant time of a film's life.

As I squat to pee I look upward at the billions of stars and planets in the heavens and somehow my own insignificance no longer terrifies me as it once did, but comforts me, makes me feel a part, however tiny, of the whole complete and perfect universe. . . and when I die the wind will still blow and the stars still shine, for the place I occupy on earth is no more permanent than the water I now make, absorbed by the the sandy soil, dried instantly by the constant prairie wind . . .