Joe Meno Quotes

Life lasts but a few scratches of the claw in the sand.

We are swimming on the face of time and all else has drowned, is drowning, or will drown.

Altogether, the task of estimating the length of human life is beyond our capacity, for directly we say that it is ages long, we are reminded that it is briefer than the fall of a rose leaf to the ground.

The seed of mortals broods o'er passing things, and hath nought surer than the smoke-cloud's shadow.

Your body is like a dew-drop on the morning grass, your life is as brief as a flash of lightning. Momentary and vain, it is lost in a moment.

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

This body is not a home, but an inn; and that only for a short time.

Insignificant mortals, who are as leaves are, and now flourish and grow warm with life, and feed on what the ground gives, but then again fade away and are dead.

Now I know that our world is no more permanent than a wave rising on the ocean. Whatever our struggles and triumphs, however we may suffer them, all too soon they bleed into a wash, just like watery ink on paper.

Faith, sir, we are here today, and gone tomorrow.

Men are the dreams of a shadow.

I see that all of us who live are nothing but images or insubstantial shadow.

Life is so, so short. Bible says it's like a vapor.

One hundred and ten years from now no one who is here now will be alive.

I see the state of all of us who live, nothing more than phantoms or a weightless shadow.

Life doesn't last; art doesn't last. It doesn't matter.

I am a forgettable leaf on a tree.

One hundred years from now, we'll all be dead. It's hard to believe. One hundred years from now, everyone we see every day will be gone.

Our doom is, to be sifted by the wind, heaped up, smoothed down like silly sands. We are less permanent than thought.

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

Consider The lilies of the field whose bloom is brief:-- We are as they; Like them we fade away As doth a leaf.

He is dead who called me into being, and when I shall be no more the very remembrance of us both will speedily vanish.

This life of ours...human life is like a flower gloriously blooming in a meadow: along comes a goat, eats it up---no more flower.

Even though in the world you are the most learned scholar of the time, Behold the vanishing of this world and this time!

Life is short. If you doubt me, ask a butterfly. Their average life span is a mere five to fourteen days.