Kenko Yoshida Quotes

Last forever!' Who hasn't prayed that prayer? You were lucky to get it in the first place. The present is a freely given canvas. That it is constantly being ripped apart and washed downstream goes without saying.

Tomorrow! - Why, tomorrow I may be Myself with yesterday's sev'n thousand years.

Oh, how short are the days! How soon the night overtakes us!

Love is a growing, or full constant light; And his first minute, after noon, is night.

Everything in this world will pass away. In eternity only Love will remain.

I think illusion is one of the most interesting things that I've found to think about. Just look at yesterday, and what you were doing, and how important it was, and how nonexistent it is now! How dreamlike it is! Same thing with tomorrow. So where are we living?

The likeness of the world? A shadow! And world's glory? A dream!

Mankind is a dream of a shadow.

Thus shall ye think of all this fleeting world: As star at dawn, a bubble in a stream A flash of lightning in a summer cloud A flickering lamp, a phantom, and a dream

I waited two thousand years for you, Grace Alexander,” he whispered in her ear. “And you were worth every second of it.

And lo, between the sundawn and the sun His day's work and his night's work are undone: And lo, between the nightfall and the light, He is not, and none knoweth of such an one.

There was nothing separate about her days. Like drops on the window-pane, they ran together and trickled away.

Sad hours and glad hours, and all hours, pass over; One thing unshaken stays: Life, that hath Death for spouse, hath Chance for lover; Whereby decays, Each thing save one thing: mid this strife diurnal, Of hourly change begot, Love that is God-born, bides as God eternal, And changes not; Nor means a tinseled dream pursuing lovers, Find altered by-and-bye, When, with possession, time anon discovers, Trapped dreams must die, - For he that visions God, of mankind gathers, One manlike trait alone, And reverently imputes to Him a father's love for his son.

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

I stare at this ceaseless, rushing crowd and imagine a time a hundred years from now. In a hundred years everybody here-me included-will have disappeared from the face of the earth and turned into ashes or dust. A weird thought, but everything in front of me starts to seem unreal, like a gust of wind could blow it all away.

Does it matter how long they were together that night? To lovers, an hour can last a century. But even for lovers, every hour ends.

Our treasures trifles seem, and all our life is dreaming, and the dreams themselves are dreams.

If there were a sympathy in choice, War, death, or sickness, did lay siege to it, Making it momentary as a sound, Swift as a shadow, short as any dream, Brief as the lightning in the collied night That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, And ere a man hath power to say 'Behold!' The jaws of darkness do devour it up; So quick bright things come to confusion.

For this I see, that we, all we that live, Are but vain shadows, unsubstantial dreams.

In the life of a man, his time is but a moment, his being an incessant flux, his sense a dim rushlight, his body a prey of worms, his soul an unquiet eddy, his fortune dark, his fame doubtful. In short, all that is body is as coursing waters, all that is of the soul as dreams and vapors.

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

Today, tomorrow," she said. "A day is nothing. A day is just a match you strike after the ten thousand matches before it have gone out.

A year's a long time, but it also flickers past in no time at all.