Allen Ginsberg Quotes

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

Everything changes. The more I try to hold on to the moment, the more it slips through my fingers.

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

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

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

All things fade and quickly turn to myth.

Everything is temporary if you give it enough time.

And here you are hurried, And here you are gone; And here is the love, That it's all built upon.

You have to hurry up if you want to see something, everything disappears.

Nothing lasts, you see, not even the thoughts inside you. And you musn't waste your time looking for them. Once a thing is gone, that is the end of it.

Time is flying never to return.

Time is not kind to everything.

Time is a circus, always packing up and moving away.

Robert, you are just a transient. I have seen them come and I have seen them go and I’ll be here long after you have gone.

Lovers come back. Styles come back. But time? It never comes back.

So many things that seemed crucial and excruciatingly hard ended and then didn't matter anymore, forever after

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

In this flowing stream, then, on which there is no abiding, what is there of the things which hurry by on which a man would set a high price? It would be just as if a man should fall in love with one of the sparrows which fly by, but it has already passed out of sight.

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.

Things always seem to glide away. They come to you, stay a moment, then leave again.

Nothing is forever...nothing lasts.

Alas! the fleeting years, how they roll on!

We write our names in the sand: and then the waves roll in and wash them away.

But then it passed, as all things do.

Every spirit passing through the world fingers the tangible and mars the mutable and finally has come to look and not to buy. So shoes are worn and hassocks are sat upon and finally everything is left where it was and the spirit passes on, just as the wind in the orchard picks up the leaves from the ground as if there were no other pleasure in the world but brown leaves, as if it would deck, clothe, flesh itself in flourishes of dusty brown apple leaves and then drops them all in a heap at the side of the house and goes on.