All good things in life are fragile and easily lost
But they never last, the golden days. And it can be sad, the sun in the afternoon, can't it? Yes, it can be sad, the afternoon sun, sad and frightening.
But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flower, it's bloom is shed; Or, like the snow-fall in the river, A moment white, then melts forever.
No joy so great but runneth to an end,No hap so hard but may in fine amend.
The joy of love is too short, and the sorrow thereof, and what cometh thereof, dureth over long.
There are no happy endings, just happy days, happy moments. The only real ending is death, and trust me, no one dies happy. And the price of not dying is that things change all the time, and the only thing you can count on is that there's not a thing you can do about it.
Even such is time, that takes in trust Our youth, our joys, our all we have, And pays us but with age and dust.
How fragile we are, between the few good moments.
Whate'er thy joys, they vanish with the day: Whate'er thy griefs, in sleep they fade away, To sleep! to sleep! Sleep, mournful heart, and let the past be past: Sleep, happy soul, all life will sleep at last.
