Nathaniel Hawthorne Quotes

Everything passes. (That's what makes it endurable.)

The hardest thing for me is the sense of impermanence. All passes; nothing returns.

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

Reflect often upon the rapidity with which all existing things, or things coming into existence, sweep past us and are carried away.

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

The morning Sunne never lasts a day.

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.

The frailty of everything revealed at last. Old and troubling issues resolved into nothingness and night. The last instance of a thing takes the class with it. Turns out the light and is gone. Look around you. Ever is a long time. But the boy knew what he knew. That ever is no time at all.

In life, and in sports, we all know that nothing lasts forever.

And you know, these things don't last forever.' I know, Mandy. Nothing does.' That's the spirit.

It is said an Eastern monarch once charged his wise men to invent him a sentence to be ever in view, and which should be true and appropriate in all times and situations. They presented him the words, "And this too, shall pass away." How much it expresses! How chastening in the hour of pride! How consoling in the depths of affliction!

Everything passes. There is great beauty in this, both in the passing of pain and in the passing of pleasure. When things present themselves to you as permanent, don't believe it.

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

But then it passed, as all things do.

Life is short but it is wide. This too shall pass.

In the end, the wind takes everything, doesn't it? And why not? Why other? If the sweetness of our lives did not depart, there would be no sweetness at all.

All things fade and quickly turn to myth.

Not to hope for things to last forever, is what the year teaches and even the hour which snatches a nice day away.

Every day a little death.

All good things pass away.

All things are taken from us, and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful past.

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.

Joy and sorrow, beauty and deformity, equally pass away.

Nothing can be grievous that is but once

Life is like a fire. Flames which the passer-by forgets. Ashes which the wind scatters. A man lived.