Mary E. Pearson Quotes

All that remains of that minute is time in all its purity, bone-white time.

Nothing comes back. The eye sees for a moment, the ear hears, but look, now it is gone.

The sands of time are quicksands ... so much can sink into them without a trace.

We lose weeks like buttons, like pencils.

And can eternity belong to me, Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?

Age carries all things away, even the mind.

Infancy is what is eternal, and the rest, all the rest, is brevity, extreme brevity.

We forget all too soon the things we thought we could never forget.

Time, you old gypsy man, will you not stay, put up your caravan just for one day?

Eternity ceased gradually to serve as the measure and focus of human actions.

Life is like a fire. Flames which the passer-by forgets. Ashes which the wind scatters. A man lived.

Everything changes. The more I try to hold on to the moment, the more it slips through my fingers.

Nothing can last forever. There isn't any memory, no matter how intense, that doesn't fade out at last.

Time slips through our hands like grains of sand, never to return again.

Every moment was a precious thing, having in it the essence of finality.

Nothing lasts forever but we always try, and I just can't help but wonder why we let it pass us by

The pen will never be able to move fast enough to write down every word discovered in the space of memory. Some things have been lost forever, other things will perhaps be remembered again, and still other things have been lost and found and lost again. There is no way to be sure of any this.

My bits of time play with eternity.

Already, it is later than you think for your earthly life at best, is only a blink of an eye between two eternities.

Today's today. Tomorrow we may be ourselves gone down the drain of Eternity.

How very near us stand the two vast gulfs of time, the past and the future, in which all things disappear.

Everything vanishes, falls apart, doesn't it? Nature is always the same but nothing in her that appears to us lasts. Our art must render the thrill of her permanence, along with her elements, the appearance of all her changes. It must give us a taste of her Eternity.