Joyce Maynard Quotes

As ephemeral as our footprints were in the sand along the river, so also were those moments of childhood caught in the photographs. And so will be our family itself, our marriage, the children who enriched it and the love that has carried us through so much. All this will be gone. What we hope will remain are these pictures, telling our brief story.

What you possess in the world will be found at the day of your death to belong to someone else. But what you are will be yours forever.

Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies.

Why should I go into details, we have nothing that is not perishable except what our hearts and our intellects endows us with.

One lives in the hope of becoming a memory.

There's a sadness about love, a melancholy and a sadness about beauty. It's just part of the human experience of living on this planet.

If my time on earth were through and she must face the world without me, is the love I gave her in the past gonna be enough to last?

Now, helpless in the hollow of An unarmorial age, a trough Of smoke in slow suspended skeins Above their scrap of history, Only an attitude remains: Time has transfigured them into Untruth. The stone finality They hardly meant has come to be Their final blazon, and to prove Our almost-instinct almost true: What will survive of us is love.

Yesterday's rose endures in its name, we hold empty names.

All around me darkness gathers, Fading is the sun that shone, We must speak of other matters, You can be me when I'm gone Flowers gathered in the morning, Afternoon they blossom on, Still are withered in the evening, You can be me when I'm gone.

I will be dust, but dust in love

What will die with me when I die, what pathetic or fragile form will the world lose?

He thinks great folly, child,' said Aslan. "This world is bursting with life for these few days because the song with which I called it into life still hangs in the air and rumbles in the ground. It will not be so for long. But I cannot tell that to this old sinner, and I cannot comfort him either; he has made himself unable to hear my voice. If I spoke to him, he would hear only growlings and roarings. Oh, Adam's son, how cleverly you defend yourself against all that might do you good!

I should not have loved my daughter as I did. Not in this world in which nothing lives for long. You children are flies. You are roses. You multiply and die.

If time and space, as sages say, Are things which cannot be, The sun which does not feel decay No greater is than we. So why, Love, should we ever pray To live a century? The butterfly that lives a day Has lived eternity.

Our sense that things are transient, that everything is passing and then if you want to save something from the endless flux of experience and the world's movement, you have to set down a stake and try and make something that will last.

Tomorrow we will be nothing but earth and dust. Who will remember the love a soldier once knew?

So we must love, while these moments are still called today, take part in the pain of this passion play, stretching our youth as we must, until we are ashes to dust, until time makes history of us.

I don't expect to live forever, nor do I repine over that, but I am weak enough to want to be remembered forever. - Yet how few of those who have lived, even of those who have accomplished far more than I have, linger on in world memory for even a single century after death

Even if it's being a Beatle for the rest of my life, it's still only a temporary thing.

So when or you or I are made A fable, song, or fleeting shade; All love, all liking, all delight Lies drowned with us in endless night. Then while time serves, and we are but decaying; Come, my Corinna, come, let's go a Maying.