Quotes About Impermanence

Not forever does the bulbul sing In balmy shades of bowers, Not forever lasts the spring Nor ever blossom flowers. Not forever reigneth joy, Sets the sun on days of bliss, Friendships not forever last, They know not life, who know not this.

This dewdrop world Is but a dewdrop world And yet —

Just beyond the gate, a neat yellow hole— someone pissed in the snow

No matter how many stones you throw at the water's surface, no matter how much you step on a shadow, the water's surface does not disappear, the shadow does not disappear.

As you know, things change. People die. Everything changes.

She begins laughing hysterically at the long-held notion that the bra, like her lost marriage, & her fabulous mother, & the man she thought she loved 2 men ago, or even the one she loves now, would last forever.

Resilience) acknowledges from the outset that things will go wrong. All of our solutions will eventually outlive their usefulness. We will make messes, and disruption we do not cause or predict will land on us. This is the drama of being alive.

Jude remembered this pain. Every woman had felt some version of it: the end of first love. It was when you learned, for good and always, that love could be impermanent.

We are like butterflies who flutter for a day and think it is forever.

We can think of the world as made up of things. Of substances. Of entities. Of something that is. Or we can think of it as made up of events. Of happenings. Of processes. Of something that occurs. Something that does not last, and that undergoes continual transformation, that is not permanent in time.

Un mondo è un pullulare continuo e irrequieto di cose, un venire alla luce e uno sparire continuo di effimere entità

Anche le parole che ora diciamo il tempo nella sua rapina ha già portato via e nulla torna (I, 11)

Even the words that we are speaking now thieving time has stolen away, and nothing can return. (I, 11)

Nothing lasts for those who are born to die, Both fortune and misfortune hurry by.

I was realizing, for the first time, that everything goes on, turns gray, is ruined in the living. That there is no end to our story until death comes and the body decays...

Viajamos con las nuebes que se disgregan y oscurecen, cambiamos con ellas sin darnos cuenta, a tenor de su frágil dibujo condenado a la agonía antes de que nadie lo haya entendido...

Esta tarde, por ejemplo, es distinta a cualquier otra y nunca se repetirá. Y cuando tú y yo seamos viejos, ni siquiera nos acordaremos. Es imposible apresar el tiempo, ¿no te parece?

The dandelion is a gawky yellow flower that blooms and then collapses into a soft, clumsy down that little children blow wishes on.

What I'm suggesting is: Just let failure and humiliation (and all the "bad stuff"—anxiety and scarcity and fat and wrinkles and pain and ultimately death itself) be the cherished beloveds that they already are to you.

I can't stop thinking about dying the way humans do it. Imagine! If at any moment, you could just stop existing. How different everything would be.." They don't stop existing Lenia said...They have souls that live forever. Even knowing that, they fight so hard to stay alive. I think it's so beautiful. Imagine: being that fragile, that permanent.

Or maybe it's just that beautiful things are so easily broken by the world.

The humblest individual under heaven,   Than might suffice a moderate century through. I knew that nought was lasting, but now even   Change grows too changeable without being new.

And mine's a bubble not blown up for praise, But just to play with, as an infant plays.

All things must pass.