Quotes About Change

These times are too progressive. Everything has changed too fast. Railroads and telegraphs and kerosene and coal stoves -- they're good to have but the trouble is, folks get to depend on 'em.

Forget about weird Boy and move on

People with Asperger's or autism expend a huge amount of mental energy each day coping with socializing, anxiety, change, sensory sensitivity, daily living skills and so on.

A turning of the page in Nature's book, and the story of spring begins.

Autumn when the trees shake loose their garments and we bundle in our own.

Autumn is a place where words fall short. It is a magic that must be felt, breathed, experienced, and treasured."

Come, Autumn Roll your red-gold wave Gently Across the good earth.

Each season promises beauty enough so as not to regret the former's passing.

Leaves fall and the spirit soars.

Softly, green gives way to gold The summer warmth gives way to cold And autumn winds begin to blow Across the changing earth.

The leave are changing; I feel poetry in the air.

There is great beauty in each season, but autumn has a touch of something more."

There is no greater artist than a tree in autumntime.

She kept the solstices and the equinoxes, both vernal and autumnal, the first of May, All Saints, all summers, kept them, but not out of reverence for the past.

Julia supposed that there was also a difference in perspective: 'The practical level was another level down [in 1960s social movements] and not so interesting. I don't know much about organizing, but I feel as though, if the reality of the situation doesn't change people's heads, then nothing's going to change their heads. Marches and those things are not the work of it. The work of it is whatever the work is.

your life can change in an instant. that instant can last forever.

And all the embezzled cents and dollars of the last time I saw you.

And my wildly troubled love for you, which labored gently in the garden all through June, then tore the flowers up with its fists in July.

Sometimes he'd write my mother's new name under his on a scrap of paper...then, the one that hurt her teeth to see, Mrs. Brock Connors-as if, by marrying, my father would be himself, and also become her.

She was afraid, too, frightened of what she found herself becoming. She felt that she was transforming into a malevolent black spider, hunched back in her crack, staring out at the world and despising everything and everyone for having what she did not.

It was high time that she left behind these silly daydreams, before she became odd and ended up locked in some attic, collecting bits of string and candle wax and muttering.

I always let you decide. If you decide wrong, I work to change your mind.

This was the dawn of a new day, and a new Emma Dove. Never again was she going to sit by while life went on around her. Never again was she going to wait for fate to hand her what she wanted. From now on, she was going to reach out and grab her dreams and not let go. She had never been more scared in her life.

You were different after your father died. She was wrong, of course. It was true that he'd changed toward her, but she had misinterpreted the cause. It wasn't his father's death and his ascension to the title the year before that caused him to shut her out the summer she came home and treat her as a servant rather than a friend. It was the fact that being friends with her had ceased to be enough, and anything more had never been possible.