Juan Gabriel Quotes

What came is gone forever every time

Things happen once only and are never repeated, never return. Except in memory.

How did it get so late so soon? Its night before its afternoon. December is here before its June. My goodness how the time has flewn. How did it get so late so soon?

But where are the snows of yester year?

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

In this flowing stream, then, on which there is no abiding, what is there of the things which hurry by on which a man would set a high price? It would be just as if a man should fall in love with one of the sparrows which fly by, but it has already passed out of sight.

The world changes too fast. You take your eyes off something that's always been there, and the next minute it's just a memory.

How those fires burned that are no longer, how the weather worsened, how the shadow of the seagull vanished without a trace. Was it the end of a season, the end of a life? Was it so long ago it seems it might never have been? What is it in us that lives in the past and longs for the future, or lives in the future and longs for the past? (from "No Words Can Describe It")

Can't bring back time. Like holding water in your hand.

One never gets the same summer twice.

But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me.

A memory from my youth comes back to me. You go into the woods on a bike, with a girl. There is the smell of heather, you can hear the wind in the fir trees, you don't dare tell her about your love, but you feel happy, as if you were floating above the ground. Then you look at the clouds beyond the trees and they are fleeting. And you know that within an hour you'll have to go home, that tomorrow will be a working day. You wish you could stop that moment forever, but you can't, it is bound to end. So you take a photo, as if to challenge time.

It’s difficult to ever go back to the same places or people. You turn away, even for a moment, and when you turn back around, everything’s changed.

Yet a little while, and (the happy hour) will be over, nor ever more shall we be able to recall it.

The most intractable of our experiences is the experience of Time-the intuition of duration, combined with the thought of perpetual perishing.

The days of wine and roses laugh and run away like a child at playThrough the meadow land toward a closing doorA door marked "nevermore" that wasn't there before

All things are taken from us, and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful past.

Exhaust the little moment. Soon it dies. And be it gash or gold it will not come Again in this identical guise.

In the sense that writing is to retrieve the past and stop the passing of time, all writing is about loss. It's not nostalgia in the sense of yearning to bring back the past, but recognition of the erosion of things as you live.

Time goes, you say? Ah, no! alas, time stays, we go.

Neither can the wave that has passed by be recalled, nor the hour which has passed return again.

I often feel that life is about to begin, only to realize it is almost over.

The results would have stayed on the watch face until the batteries died. But trying to make time stand still this way would have been a mistake. It is just as important to erase times eventually as to save them at first.

For every minute, the future is becoming the past.

I long for the time of no more departures. It has something to do with age, probably.