Charles Dickens Quotes

Everything, no matter how beautiful, is only with us for awhile.

Nature's first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf's a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay.

The hardest thing for me is the sense of impermanence. All passes; nothing returns.

Life was so short; so many beautiful things slipped away.

And one day we will die and our ashes will fly from the aeroplane over the sea. But for now we are young; let us lay in the sun and count every beautiful thing we can see.

Nothing gold can stay.

Beautiful is the bloom of youth, but it lasts only for a short time.

Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.

Because beautiful things never last. Not roses nor snow… And not fireworks, either

Impermanence is the very essence of joy-the drop of bitterness that enables one to perceive the sweet.

All things fade and quickly turn to myth.

Passing beauties are only the fugitive reflections of the eternal. All beauty alters and all life melts away; in short, everything passes with marvelous rapidity; beautiful Helen of Troy has become a toothless skull, then a handful of dust, then nothing.

I came like Water, and like Wind I go.

Beautiful things never last. That’s why fireflies flash.

Everything passes. There is great beauty in this, both in the passing of pain and in the passing of pleasure. When things present themselves to you as permanent, don't believe it.

These flowers, which were splendid and sprightly, waking in the dawn of the morning, in the evening will be a pitiful frivolity, sleeping in the cold night's arms.

The innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time.

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

Nothing is forever in the Theatre. Whatever it is, it's here, it flares up, burns hot and then its gone.

Though nature is constantly beautiful, she does not exhibit her highest powers of beauty constantly, for then they would satiate us and pall upon our senses. It is necessary to their appreciation that they should be rarely shown. Her finest touches are things which must be watched for; her most perfect passages of beauty are the most evanescent.

All beauty that surrounds us must one day perish.

The present flowed by them like a stream. The tree rustled. It had made music before they were born, and would continue after their deaths, but its song was of the moment. The moment had passed. The tree rustled again. Their senses were sharpened, and they seemed to apprehend life. Life passed. The tree rustled again.

Nothing lasts forever. That's the tragedy and the miracle of existence - that everything is impermanent. Everything changes. All we can do is make the best of the time we have. And go down shooting, naturally.