Stephen King Quotes

All things are taken from us, and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful past.

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

Nothing can be sadder or more profound than to see a thousand things for the first and last time. To journey is to be born and die each minute...All the elements of life are in constant flight from us, with darkness and clarity intermingled, the vision and the eclipse; we look and hasten, reaching out our hands to clutch; every happening is a bend in the road...and suddenly we have grown old. We have a sense of shock and gathering darkness; ahead is a black doorway; the life that bore us is a flagging horse, and a veiled stranger is waiting in the shadows to unharness us.

All things must pass.

Life is like a fire. Flames which the passer-by forgets. Ashes which the wind scatters. A man lived.

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

We are swimming on the face of time and all else has drowned, is drowning, or will drown.

To venerate the simple days Which lead the seasons by, Needs but to remember That from you or I They may take the trifle Termed mortality!

eventually, everything goes away.

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.

Life is a stream On which we strew Petal by petal the flower of our heart; The end lost in dream, They float past our view, We only watch their glad, early start. Freighted with hope, Crimsoned with joy, We scatter the leaves of our opening rose; Their widening scope, Their distant employ, We never shall know. And the stream as it flows Sweeps them away, Each one is gone Ever beyond into infinite ways. We alone stay While years hurry on, The flower fared forth, though its fragrance still stays.

The morning Sunne never lasts a day.

This greatest mortal consolation, which we derive from the transitoriness of all things-from the right of saying, in every conjuncture, "This, too, will pass away.

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

Your body is like a dew-drop on the morning grass, your life is as brief as a flash of lightning. Momentary and vain, it is lost in a moment.

All things must pass, all things must pass away.

A man, when he burns, leaves only a handful of ashes. No woman can hold him. The wind must blow him away.

It's not realistic to imagine that any poem will last forever. Our species won't last forever! We try to capture and preserve our impressions of reality because it's all going away: everything we think and remember, everything we've ever felt, everyone we love.

Why should we be startled by death? Life is a constant putting off of the mortal coil - coat, cuticle, flesh and bones, all old clothes.

The shimmering night does not stay for mortals, not misfortunes, nor wealth, but in a moment it is gone, and to the turn of another comes joy and loss.

Nothing is lasting but change; nothing perpetual but death.

Life can seem rather unreal at times. Alive and well and loving one day. No longer there the next.