Dave Matthews Quotes

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

My work is about my life as an event, and I find myself to be very temporal, transient.

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

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

Life is short but it is wide. This too shall pass.

But when to-morrow comes, yesterday's morrow will have been already spent: and lo! a fresh morrow will be for ever making away with our years, each just beyond our grasp.

There is no remembrance which time does not obliterate, nor pain which death does not terminate.

The past is a bucket of ashes

So passed the seasons then, so they pass now, and so they will pass in time to come, while we come and go like leaves of the tree that fall and are soon forgotten.

Youth passes like a dream.

All day I've built a lifetime and now the sun sinks to undo it.

as they die, the ones we love, we lose our witnesses, our watchers, those who know and understand the tiny little meaningless patterns, those words drawn in water with a stick. And there is nothing left but the endless flow.

Time lost, as men may see, For nothing may recovered be.

Time wastes too fast : every letter I trace tells me with what rapidity Life follows my pen ; the days and hours of it, more precious, my dear Jenny! than the rubies about thy neck, are flying over our heads like light clouds of a windy day, never to return more -- every thing presses on -- whilst thou are twisting that lock, -- see! it grows grey ; and every time I kiss thy hand to bid adieu, and every absence which follows it, are preludes to that eternal separation which we are shortly to make!

This autumn- why am I growing old? bird disappearing among clouds.

Thus my life is a flight and I lose everything and everything belongs to oblivion, or to him.

And though I remember her name I cannot recall her face. All things pass.

Time takes it all, whether you want it to or not. Time takes it all, time bears it away, and in the end there is only darkness. Sometimes we find others in that darkness, and sometimes we lose them there again.

The shimmering night does not stay for mortals, not misfortunes, nor wealth, but in a moment it is gone, and to the turn of another comes joy and loss.

All her knowledge is gone now. Everything she ever learned, or heard, or saw. Her particular way of looking at Hamlet or daisies or thinking about love, all her private intricate thoughts, her inconsequential secret musings – they’re gone too. I heard this expression once: Each time someone dies, a library burns. I’m watching it burn right to the ground.