Carmen Laforet Quotes

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.

Sleep is not, death is not; Who seem to die Live. House you were born in, Friends of your spring-time, old man and young maid, Day's toil and it's guerdon, They are all vanishing, Fleeing to fables, Cannot be moored

When we're alive, life consumes us. But when we die, all of the color and the motion is gone so quickly, it's as though it can no longer stand to be wasted on us.

All beauty that surrounds us must one day perish.

eventually, everything goes away.

Mean and mighty, rotting Together, have one dust.

Nothing endures. Not a tree. Not love. Not even death by violence.

Rien n'est plus parfait, plus acheve qu'un cadavre. Nothing is more perfect, more complete than a corpse.

Some things are forgotten, some things disappear, some things die.

All things are only transitory.

All that's bright must fade, The brightest still the fleetest; All that's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest.

We are dying, we are dying, piecemeal our bodies are dying and our strength leaves us, and our soul cowers naked in the dark rain over the flood, cowering in the last branches of the tree of our life.

There's no sense that you're there forever. No parent is there forever.

Consider The lilies of the field whose bloom is brief:-- We are as they; Like them we fade away As doth a leaf.

The flower fades and dies; but he who wears the flower has not to mourn for it for ever.

When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced The rich proud cost of outworn buried age; When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed And brass eternal slave to mortal rage; When I have seen the hungry ocean gain Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, And the firm soil win of the watery main, Increasing store with loss and loss with store; When I have seen such interchange of state, Or state itself confounded to decay; Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate, That Time will come and take my love away. This thought is as a death which cannot choose But weep to have that which it fears to lose.

But everyone disappears, no matter who loves them.

Death devours all lovely things.

Our lives carry us along in ways we cannot control, and almost nothing stays with us. It dies when we do, and death is something that happens to us every day.

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

I should not have loved my daughter as I did. Not in this world in which nothing lives for long. You children are flies. You are roses. You multiply and die.

If there were a sympathy in choice, War, death, or sickness, did lay siege to it, Making it momentary as a sound, Swift as a shadow, short as any dream, Brief as the lightning in the collied night That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, And ere a man hath power to say 'Behold!' The jaws of darkness do devour it up; So quick bright things come to confusion.

For some reason focusing on destruction and mortality is more poetically exciting to me than hope and love.