Sam Tanenhaus Quotes

Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind.

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

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.

Like a wind crying endlessly through the universe, Time carries away the names and the deeds of conquerors and commoners alike. And all that we were, all that remains, is in the memories of those who cared we came this way for a brief moment.

They would grow old. They would forget me.

Time erases both the best and the worst of us.

Uneasily the leaves fall at this season, forgetting what to do or where to go; the red amnesiacs of autumn drifting thru the graveyard forest. What they have forgotten they have forgotten: what they meant to do instead of fall is not in earth or time recoverable the fossils of intention, the shapes of rot.

Time bears away all things.

Time after time have nations, ay, and rich and strong nations, learned in the arts, been, and passed away to be forgotten, so that no memory of them remains. This is but one of several; for Time eats up the works of man.

Time is the most subtle yet the most insatiable of depredators, and by appearing to take nothing is permitted to take all; nor can it be satisfied until it has stolen the world from us, and us from the world. It constantly flies, yet overcomes all things by flight; and although it is the present ally, it will be the future conqueror of death.

You can't be young always. The day will come when everything will fall apart.

That you are not already golden word in our streets Already memories Your love fades Already Whether you are no longer to have perished.

And so do people pass out of one's life and all you can remember of them is their humanity, a poor fitful thing of no dominion, like your own.

Time was rushing around me like water around a big wet rock. The only difference is, I was not so durable as stones. Very quickly I would be smoothed away.

We tried not to age, but time had its rage.

What is a ruin but time easing itself of endurance?

Alas, how quickly the gratitude owed to the dead flows off, how quick to be proved a deceiver.

Death is feared as birth is forgotten.

Writers and believers live their lives haunted by the same question: What happens to our days once they disappear? The objective fact is that each day that passes is lost forever, as forbidden to us as the dead. But prayer and fiction offer a different answer. Those lost days still live among us, written in each person's hand, turned into stories.

History can just be so unkind as time passes.

Time, memory, loss and love are my main artistic concerns, but time, among all of them, becomes the determinant.

Time is the rider that breaks youth.

Men live their lives trapped in an eternal present, between the mists of memory and the sea of shadow that is all we know of the days to come.

Sleep is not, death is not; Who seem to die Live. House you were born in, Friends of your spring-time, old man and young maid, Day's toil and it's guerdon, They are all vanishing, Fleeing to fables, Cannot be moored

Time doesn’t obey our commands. You cannot make it holy just because it is disappearing.