Jean Rhys Quotes

Death is the stone into which our oblivion hardens.

All things fade and quickly turn to myth.

There is nothing certain in a man's life but that he must lose it.

All things are only transitory.

History says, 'Don't hope on this side of the grave.'

Dust, in the end, settles on everything.

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 memory, and then it is nothing.

Some things are forgotten, some things disappear, some things die.

Beauty is a precious trace that eternity causes to appear to us and that it takes away from us. A manifestation of eternity, and a sign of death as well.

Time is not kind to everything.

Oh my God, if I know anything, I know I'm gonna die! I never forget that. I know I'll be forgotten in a minute, and that's just fine with me.

When I die, and people realize that I will not be resurrected in three days, they will forget me. That is the way it should be.

Our birth is nothing but our death begun, As tapers waste the moment they take fire.

Time is death.

Nothing can be grievous that is but once

It's a mantra I've lived by for as long as I can remember. Nothing lasts for ever.

I think we all lose in the end because we don't get to stay here forever.

But beauty vanishes; beauty passes; However rare rare it be; And when I crumble, who will remember This lady of the West Country?

Your death and my death are mainly of importance to ourselves. The black plumes will be stripped off our hearses within the hour; tears will dry, hurt hearts close again, our graves grow level with the church-yard, and although we are away, the world wags on. It does not miss us; and those who are near us, when the first strangeness of vacancy wears off, will not miss us much either.

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

We write our names in the sand: and then the waves roll in and wash them away.

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.

What do people fear most about death? I asked the reb. "Fear?" he thought for a moment. 'Well, for one thing, what happens next? Where do we go? Is it what we imagined?" That's big. "Yes. But there's something else." What else? He leaned forward. "Being forgotten," he whispered.