Horace Quotes

Everything is about to disappear. You've got to hurry up if you still want to see things.

Everything is temporary if you give it enough time.

Nothing lasts, you see, not even the thoughts inside you. And you musn't waste your time looking for them. Once a thing is gone, that is the end of it.

Everything changes. The more I try to hold on to the moment, the more it slips through my fingers.

Life is a stream On which we strew Petal by petal the flower of our heart; The end lost in dream, They float past our view, We only watch their glad, early start. Freighted with hope, Crimsoned with joy, We scatter the leaves of our opening rose; Their widening scope, Their distant employ, We never shall know. And the stream as it flows Sweeps them away, Each one is gone Ever beyond into infinite ways. We alone stay While years hurry on, The flower fared forth, though its fragrance still stays.

I would have stayed forever within the garden of Re-mose's childhood, but time is a mother's enemy.

And here you are hurried, And here you are gone; And here is the love, That it's all built upon.

What came is gone forever every time

You have to hurry up if you want to see something, everything disappears.

All good things pass away.

Everything passes. Nobody gets anything for keeps. And that's how we've got to live.

Time is not kind to everything.

The whole message of the piece was that possessions are transient. You don't know if you are going to be able to have time with somebody, so you better be careful.

Nothing can last forever. There isn't any memory, no matter how intense, that doesn't fade out at last.

Love that well which thou must leave ere long.

Things pass us by. Nobody can catch them. That's the way we live our lives.

Everything is transient. Everything is constantly changing. The only thing we have is now.

Alas! the fleeting years, how they roll on!

The morning Sunne never lasts a day.

This is the time to remember cause it will not last forever. These are the days to hold onto cause we won't although we'll want to.

This greatest mortal consolation, which we derive from the transitoriness of all things-from the right of saying, in every conjuncture, "This, too, will pass away.

All things fade and quickly turn to myth.

A man, when he burns, leaves only a handful of ashes. No woman can hold him. The wind must blow him away.

It's not realistic to imagine that any poem will last forever. Our species won't last forever! We try to capture and preserve our impressions of reality because it's all going away: everything we think and remember, everything we've ever felt, everyone we love.

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.