Louise Linton Quotes

Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind.

So how can you lose what you've never owned?

There is some suffering that awaits us all.

Life is change, to cease to change is to cease to live; yet if you may shed a tear beside the death-bed of an old friend, let not your heart be silent on the dissolving of a faith.

Lies here food for the worms yet the work shall not be lost.

You get older, and people start passing away. And so if you're lucky - my mom died very young, for instance, and I have friends who died very young - but the point being that, I think if you're awake, you know you're going to pass on. And that the real treasure in life is the long term - relationships that you really value.

Life is made of ever so many partings welded together.

If you acquire things, you have to let them go.

I would rather be ashes than dust.

Proof that no investment is yours forever.

Yesterday's rose endures in its name, we hold empty names.

All around me darkness gathers, Fading is the sun that shone, We must speak of other matters, You can be me when I'm gone Flowers gathered in the morning, Afternoon they blossom on, Still are withered in the evening, You can be me when I'm gone.

Death is my son-in-law. Death is my heir. My daughter he hath wedded. I will die, And leave him all. Life, living, all is Death’s.

Neither our own passing nor the passing of an era is a tragedy, no matter how much we would like to think it is.

Man passes away; his name perishes from record and recollection; his history is as a tale that is told, and his very monument becomes a ruin.

The things we now esteem fixed shall, one by one, detach themselves, like ripe fruit, from our experience, and fall. The wind shall blow them none knows whither.

What is death, after all? We leave only mortals behind us.

This house sheltered us, we spoke, we loved within those walls. That was yesterday. To-day we pass on, we see it no more, and we are different, changed in some infinitesimal way. We can never be quite the same again.

From nothing to everything is a long way, from everything to nothing is one stop.

What will die with me when I die, what pathetic or fragile form will the world lose?

History is a great cemetery: men, deeds, ideas are always dying as soon as they are born.

In the end, we all lose it. Remember that. In the end, we own nothing.

Change is a measure of time and, in the autumn, time seems speeded up. What was is not and never again will be; what is is change.

All is change; all yields its place and goes.

While you are living, part of you has slipped away to the cemetery.