Quotes About Change

When you're nailing a custard pie to the wall, and it starts to wilt, it doesn't do any good to hammer in more nails.

But this general business of trusting people, I don't know. I doubt if I can change. I believe in trusting people, do you see? At least till they prove they can't be trusted. What kind of life is it when you can't?

There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood, Touch of manner, hint of mood . . ." How does it go?

Each child marked a decline in the security of their life.

Whatever we thought about art and its relation to life, we knew that the Faulkner motto we had adopted in harder times no longer served. "They kilt us but they ain't whupped us yit" was no watchword for this world so full of interest, instruction, suggestiveness, possibility,

Closing up the canyon camp was like closing up a house after a death. ("It is easier to die than to move," she wrote Augusta once; "at least for the Other Side you don't need trunks.")

He cited me her own remark that she wrote from the protected point of view, the woman's point of view, as evidence that she went through her life from inexperience to inexperience.

Civilizations grow and change and decline - they aren't remade.

We have made a tradition out of mourning the passing of things we never had time really to know, just as we have made a culture out of the open road, out of movement without place.

We can't tell who first had an idea; we can only tell who first had it influentially, who formulated it in a striking way and left it in some form, poem or equation or picture, that others could stumble upon with the shock of recognition. The radical ideas that have been changing our attitudes toward our habitat have been around forever.

Poor, dear, silly Spring, preparing her annual surprise!

They said, You have a blue guitar, you do not play things as they are. The man replied, Things as they are changed upon a blue guitar.

Children picking up our bones Will never know that these were once As quick as foxes on the hill;

The river is moving. The blackbird must be flying.

After the leaves have fallen, we return To a plain sense of things. It is as if We had come to an end of the imagination, Inanimate in an inert savoir.

A change of style is a change of meaning.

She says, "But in contentment I still feel The need for imperishable bliss." Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her, Alone, shall come fulfillment to our dreams And our desires. Is there no change of death in paradise? Does ripe fruit never fall? or do the boughs Hang always heavy in that perfect sky, Unchanging, yet so like our perishing earth, With rivers like our own that seek for seas They never find, the same receding shores That never touch with inarticulate pang?

They said"You have a blue guitar You do not play things as they are". The man replied,"things as they are Are changed upon the blue guitar".

Desiring the exhilarations of changes: The motive for metaphor, shrinking from The weight of primary noon ...

The partaker partakes of that which changes him. The child that touches takes character from the thing, the body, it touches.

After the final no there comes a yes. And on that yes the future world depends. No was the night. Yes is this present sun.

After the final no there come a yes, and on that yes a future world depends.

Spring is umbilical or else it is not spring.

Tras el ultimo "NO" viene un "sí". Y de ese sí depende el porvenir del mundo.