Quotes About Metamorphosis

spin a cocoon around herself.

That was the old composition and I had walked out of that world. I had literally walked off the stage.

But it is your self that must constantly be transforming. You cannot bring the same stale self to the world and expect the world to be new for you.

done, in any of the following ways:

Life into death—life's other shape, no rupture, only crossing.

I thought I was growing wings— it was a cocoon. I thought, now is the time to step into the fire— it was deep water. Eschatology is a word I learned as a child: the study of Last Things; facing my mirror—no longer young, the news—always of death, the dogs—rising from sleep and clamoring and howling, howling.... ("Seeing For a Moment")

Metamorphosis is an inherent part and the most profound process of life, in my view. We constantly transform into better versions of ourselves, like an Ugly Duckling transforming to Swan, and a Caterpillar to beautiful Butterfly. The metamorphosis continues throgh the journey of life, and then from generation to generations yet to come. There is an element of elegance and beauty in the fact that we all evolve, metaphorically, to Butterflies with Earth as our Chrysalis.

I am no longer what I was. I will remain what I have become.

Merely quantitative differences, beyond a certain point, pass into qualitative changes.

We go through life. We shed our skins. We become ourselves.

Life is a cycle, and mime is particularly suitable for showing fluidity, transformation, metamorphosis. Words can keep people apart; mime can be a bridge between them.

Be', dipende dai soffitti alti, no? Vedi cose che non esistono. E le cose che vedi sembrano altre cose. Un uccello può essere un pipistrello. Un pipistrello può essere una busta di plastica che vola. Così va il mondo. Vedi una cosa per un'altra. Uccelli-foglie. Pipistrelli-uccelli. Ombre fatte di luci. Rumori accidentali che sembrano più significativi. È sempre così, dovunque vai.

A ghost bird might be a hawk in one place, a crow in another, depending on the context. The sparrow that shot up into the blue sky one morning might transform mid-flight into an osprey the next. This was the way of things here. There were no reasons so mighty that they could override the desire to be in accord with the tides and the passage of seasons and the rhythms underlying everything around me.

Rachel, Rachel—what am I?" The strobe of colors felt like a smile or a flash of relief. "That's a tough one, Borne. I don't know what you are." "Am I a squirrel?" "I don't think so." "Am I a fish?" "Definitely not!" "Am I a Ã¢â'¬Â¦ fox?! Secretly raised as a common animal. But really a royal fox. Most royal of foxes. First among fox-kind." I

Rachel, Rachel—what am I?" The strobe of colors felt like a smile or a flash of relief. "That's a tough one, Borne. I don't know what you are." "Am I a squirrel?" "I don't think so." "Am I a fish?" "Definitely not!" "Am I a Ã¢â'¬Â¦ fox?! Secretly raised as a common animal. But really a royal fox. Most royal of foxes. First among fox-kind." I shook my head. "No, not a fox.

As I adjusted to the light, the Crawler kept changing at a lightning pace, as if to mock my ability to comprehend it. It was a figure within a series of refracted panes of glass. It was a series of layers in the shape of an archway. It was a great sluglike monster ringed by satellites of even odder creatures. It was a glistening star. My eyes kept glancing off of it as if an optic nerve was not enough

What was a person but someone who turned monstrous, anyway?

My voice had a rasp to it, then. I wasn't yet comfortable talking human. My voice had a rasp, and I gazed upon the bison head on the wall and my voice became raspier still. I gazed upon the mossy rock imported from another country, the water feature in the house, and wanted only to return to all fours and drink from the pond. To gaze at the reflection and remember who I was, not who I had become

We were neither what we had been nor what we would become once we reached our destination.

We are all future butterflies who think, wrongly, that we are just slugs. And we are evolving, whether we admit it or not, into something else. Something with wings.

Non sum qualis eram -I am not what I used to be

His hair was longer now, brushing the tops of his shoulders, and the weight of it made it hang straight and shiny. He'd lost more weight and gotten kind of tan. He looked about five years older. And then there was me, dressed as sushi.

Right now I want a word that describes the feeling that you get--a cold sick feeling, deep down inside--when you know something is happening that will change you, and you don't want it to, but you can't stop it. And you know, for the first time, for the very first time, that there will now be a before and an after , a was and a will be . And that you will never again quite be the same person you were.

Probably no people embrace change more enthusiastically, at least in theory, than Americans. Who we are at birth is less important to us than who we will become. We are expected—indeed, obligated—not just to be, but to become.