Life's Transience Quotes

We're all going to die, all of us; what a circus! That alone should make us love each other, but it doesn't. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities. We are eaten up by nothing.

Dying is easy, it's living that scares me to death.

While we are reasoning concerning life, life is gone.

Living is what scares me. Dying is easy.

Brief is this existence, as a visit in a strange house. The path to be pursued is poorly lit by a flickering consciousness.

I have a suit in my closet with the pocket cut out. It's a reminder to me that I won't be taking anything with me. The last suit I wear won't need any pockets.

Before i knew the best part of my life had come ,it had gone.

A tomb now suffices him for whom the whole world was not sufficient.

At my age days dissolve like salt in water; the day's gone and I don't even know what I've done with the hours.

You're going to die. You're going to be dead. It could be 20 years, it could be tomorrow, anytime. So am I. I mean, we're just going to be gone. The world's going to go on without us. All right now. You do your job in the face of that, and how seriously you take yourself you decide for yourself.

For, after all, put it as we may to ourselves, we are all of us from birth to death guests at a table which we did not spread.

Dying was just an extended version of Ash Wednesday.

I was confident that I was a special person. But time slowly chips away at life. People don't just die when their time comes. They gradually die away, from the inside. And finally the day comes when you have to settle accounts. Nobody can escape it. People have to pay the price for what they've received. I have only just learned that truth.

Little fly, thy summer's play My thoughtless hand has brushed away. Am not I a fly like thee? Or art not thou a man like me? For I dance and drink and sing, Till some blind hand shall brush my wing!

For the short-lived bloom and contracted span of brief and wretched life is fast fleeting away! While we are drinking and calling for garlands, ointments, and women, old age steals swiftly on with noiseless step.

A life is a moment in season. A life is one snowfall. A life is one autumn day. A life is the delicate, rapid edge of a closing door's shadow. A life is a brief movement of arms and of legs.

Already, it is later than you think for your earthly life at best, is only a blink of an eye between two eternities.

No matter where; of comfort no man speak: Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth

As we grow old, we become aware that death is drawing near; his shadow falls across our path; the realities of life seem less crude than of yore, they touch our senses less intimately, and they lose much of their poignancy.

Why don't people take the trouble to let you know that they are alive? It is so much more important. The whole system is wrong. No sooner do I die, than all the flowers I have ever longed for in life pour in.

If Heaven is up, I'm going. I know I'm right in my heart. This world is not my home. This life will soon be gone, and, one day, I'll spread my wings, as an angel, and fly away.

I think that storytelling, at its essence, allows us to feel like we all suffer the same insanity or a similar insanity of existence: that nobody escapes scot-free. We're all going to wind up - at the best-case scenario - 80, 85, 90, broken, in pain, and feeling like it was all a dream and not really understanding the point of any of it.

Life is a sheet of paper white / Whereon each one of us may write / His word or two, and then comes night.

Life's temporary for a reason, it gets boring after awhile.