Edmund Spenser Quotes

Time is not kind to everything.

Our lives carry us along in ways we cannot control, and almost nothing stays with us. It dies when we do, and death is something that happens to us every day.

O the world is but a word; were it all yours to give it in a breath, how quickly were it gone!

There is no complete life. There are only fragments. We are born to have nothing, to have it pour through our hands. And yet, this pouring, this flood of encounters, struggles, dreams...

All things fade and quickly turn to myth.

The world's a bubble, and the life of man, Less than a span.

How quickly passes away the glory of this world.

All things are only transitory.

I like things that are just about to go. Everything's leaving. Death is never far away from me. When you make something, death can't help but be in it.

All lovely things will have an ending, All lovely things will fade and die; And youth, that's now so bravely spending, Will beg a penny by and by.

Time destroys everything.

Oh, how swiftly the glory of the world passes away!

All that's bright must fade, The brightest still the fleetest; All that's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest.

Time is the devourer of all things.

Time is death.

Man, like a light in the night, is kindled and put out.

Man passes away; his name perishes from record and recollection; his history is as a tale that is told, and his very monument becomes a ruin.

Life is a bubble in a lake, that glitters for an instant, bursts, and leaves not even a blur on the water; it is the leap of a minnow, which sends a tiny ripple trembling for a few inches.

Sleep is not, death is not; Who seem to die Live. House you were born in, Friends of your spring-time, old man and young maid, Day's toil and it's guerdon, They are all vanishing, Fleeing to fables, Cannot be moored

Even though in the world you are the most learned scholar of the time, Behold the vanishing of this world and this time!

Was life nothing more than a storm that constantly washed away what had been there only a moment before, and left behind something barren and unrecognizable?

eventually, everything goes away.

Death devours all lovely things.

The morning Sunne never lasts a day.

Life is a frail moth flying Caught in the web of the years that pass.