Bret Michaels Quotes

I think I'm just a summer fling that people will soon forget.

People will forget me pretty quick.

Nothing is so fickle and uncertain as popularity. It is here today and gone tomorrow. It is a sandy foundation, and sure to fail those who build upon it.

Even the one moment that you thought was your eternity fades out and is forgotten and dies.

To occupy an inch of dusty shelf-to have the title of their works read now and then in a future age by some drowsy churchman or casual straggler, and in another age to be lost, even to remembrance. Such is the amount of boasted immortality.

The industry's memory is quite short, it's true.

Movies are written in sand: applauded today, forgotten tomorrow.

The movies people don't talk about or remember after six months' time don't really matter.

Knowledge is soon changed, then lost in the mist, an echo half-heard.

I'm the flavor of the month.

Not in my lifetime.

The kindly light has a brief period of shining.

Worldly renown is naught but a breath of wind, which now comes this way and now comes that, and changes name because it changes quarter..

Everything I have is for sale. Material items are just things that pass through your hands that mean very little or nothing.

A trend is exactly that, and it's going to disappear.

People didn't go on YouTube to get famous back when I started.

I think the best thing about a bubble is that it pops and is gone. That is what makes it so precious.

It's just comical how short-term people's memories are.

We all go to our grave thinking that we will never be forgotten, and we are forgotten ten minutes later.

I feel sorry for confetti. Its useful life lasts about two seconds. And it can never be used again.

Tomorrow I too – this feeling and thinking soul, the universe I am to myself – yes, tomorrow I too will be someone who no longer walks these streets, someone others will evoke with a vague: 'I wonder what's become of him?” And everything I do, everything I feel, everything I experience, will be just one less passer-by on the daily streets of some city or other.

Before we are forgotten, we will be turned into kitsch. Kitsch is the stopover between being and oblivion.

But beauty vanishes; beauty passes; However rare rare it be; And when I crumble, who will remember This lady of the West Country?

Your death and my death are mainly of importance to ourselves. The black plumes will be stripped off our hearses within the hour; tears will dry, hurt hearts close again, our graves grow level with the church-yard, and although we are away, the world wags on. It does not miss us; and those who are near us, when the first strangeness of vacancy wears off, will not miss us much either.

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.