Jean-Paul Sartre Quotes

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 meanwhile time flies; it flies never to be regained.

Another thing that freaks me out is time. Time is like a book. You have a beginning, a middle and an end. It's just a cycle.

In my limited realm of experience, beginnings led to endings.

The clock never stops, never stops, never waits. We're growing old. It's getting late.

When one's dead, one's dead... This squirrel will become earth all in his time. And still later on, there'll grow new trees from him, with new squirrels skipping about in them. Do you think that's so very sad?

Death is not a word to fear, any more than birth is.

I have always looked upon decay as being just as wonderful and rich an expression of life as growth.

A day lays low and lifts up again all human things.

We are washed both on coming into the world and on going out of it, and we take no pleasure from the first washing nor any profit from the last.

It's the game of life. Do I win or do I lose? One day they're gonna shut the game down. I gotta have as much fun and go around the board as many times as I can before it's my turn to leave.

Everything born has to die, in order to make room for the future.

Time is a great conference planning our end, and youth is only the past putting a leg forward.

For me, it's always a failure of the imagination. I have that anxiety that time is passing, that everything is ultimately fleeting and impermanent. I better take advantage of every single moment.

People don't slip. Time catches up with them.

I'm going to die one day. I know it's coming for me, too. I'll be a mountain, I'll be a stone on the beach. I'll be nourishment.

Oh, the years fly by, that's just natural.

I could not have known then that everybody, every person, has to leave, has to change like seasons; they have to or they die. The seasons remind me that I must keep changing.

Men in their generations are like the leaves of the trees. The wind blows and one year's leaves are scattered on the ground; but the trees burst into bud and put on fresh ones when the spring comes round.

Spring flies, and with it all the train it leads; and flowers, in fading, leave us but their seeds.

A generation of men is like a generation of leaves; the wind scatters some leaves upon the ground, while others the burgeoning wood brings forth - and the season of spring comes on. So of men one generation springs forth and another ceases.

You know this moment in time Is all my life Every day is each day that's passed Every person alive is everyone's who's died

Like leaves on trees the race of man is found,- Now green in youth, now withering on the ground; Another race the following spring supplies: They fall successive, and successive rise.