Horace Quotes

The worldly stuff is not always going to be there and it could be taken away at any moment.

What is this world? A mere curl of smoke for the wind to scatter.

As for success, I don't care for it. It is a fragile thing.

This world's a bubble.

Without continuity, men would become like flies in summer.

I feel our relationship to life, to the rest of the world, is very tenuous. It feels fleeting.

Sometimes you think things are going to be forever, and then... of course, they're not.

I do have in the back of my head that you never know how long it lasts.

I learnt too late that what is most important to us is always most precious at the moment it occurs, and it is precious in its absolute immediacy and not as some vague confirmation of future directions; since the only certain fact, aside from death, is the flimsiness of everything.

I take this evanescence and lubricity of all objects, which lets them slip through our fingers then when we clutch hardest, to be the most unhandsome part of our condition.

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

There is no complete life. There are only fragments. We are born to have nothing, to have it pour through our hands. And yet, this pouring, this flood of encounters, struggles, dreams...

No one could say how long that life would last. Whatever has form can disappear in an instant.

There is nothing certain in a man's life but that he must lose it.

Five years after Aerosmith got back together, I realized how fragile we are as humans. There was a time I thought we were bulletproof, but then things happened and I came to the realization that I had to play every gig as if it was my last show. You have to start thinking that way, because you never know what's going to happen next.

Treaties, you see, are like girls and roses; they last while they last.

Fame is a fickle food upon a shifting plate.

Alas for the affairs of men! When they are fortunate you might compare them to a shadow; and if they are unfortunate, a wet sponge with one dash wipes the picture away.

A mass of dust, world's momentary slave, Is man, in state of our old Adam made, Soon born to die, soon flourishing to fade.

This planet Earth, the act of putting a roof over our heads, our flesh and blood existence, it's all very temporary.

Remember, tomorrow is promised to no one.

The only certainty is that nothing is certain.

Between us and heaven or hell there is only life, which is the frailest thing in the world.

Nothing in life is promised except death.

We civilizations now know ourselves mortal.