We live in the future: "tomorrow", "later", "when you have a position", "with age you will understand." This inconsistency is delightful - after all, death comes in the end.
From an essay on the absurd. "The myth of Sisyphus."
A brisk autumn breeze flowed past, bringing with it scents from the city below: bread and cinnamon and orange.. Nesta inhaled, identifying each one, wondering how they could all somehow combine to create a singular sense of autumn.
Beauty consists of its own passing, just as we reach for it. It's the ephemeral configuration of things in the moment, when you can see both their beauty and their death.
Muriel Barbery, The Elegance of the Hedgehog