Quotes About Cycle

Change is the constant, the signal for rebirth, the egg of the phoenix.

The road to death is life, the gate of life is death,

What the tide takes away, the tide brings back.

Sometimes people aren't nice,' I began. 'Then why are you always telling me to be nice?' Because someone has to break the cycle. Kindness can be contagious. And it has to start somewhere, right?

Der Mutterschoss ist keine Einbahnstraße.

And so, perhaps, I must once again accept what I used to suspect about my birth: that I had been here many times before and would come again regardless of how unhappily, unwillingly, and to exactly this same place.

The Summer-time will come again To kiss the brow of dying Spring, And, with the south wind's low refrain, A choral requiem will she sing.

Nothing that is can pause or stay; The moon will wax, the moon will wane, The mist and cloud will turn to rain, The rain to mist and cloud again, Tomorrow be today.

To which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.

I had begun to feel that life was a repetition of the same thing; that there was nothing new either in me or in him; and that, on the contrary, we kept going back as it were on what was old.

just as in the world of plants and animals nothing ceases to exist, but continually changes its form, the manure into grain, the grain into a food, the tadpole into a frog, the caterpillar into a butterfly, the acorn into an oak, so man also does not perish, but only undergoes a change. He believed in this, and therefore always looked death straight in the face, and bravely bore the sufferings that lead towards it

It all begins and ends in the same place, doesn't it? Conor and me in Ballyutogue. We all come home eventually.

At first first nothing will happen to us and later on it will happen to us again.

But when does something's destiny finally come to fruition? Is the plant complete when it flowers? When it goes to seed? When the seeds sprout? When everything turns into compost?

Things are either devolving toward, or evolving from, nothingness.

Is the plant complete when it flowers? When it goes to seed? When the seeds sprout? When everything turns into compost?

Man and the animals are merely a passage and channel for food, a tomb for other animals, a haven for the dead, giving life by the death of others, a coffer full of corruption.

The Sicilian language is the only one in Europe that has no future tense. The island's bitter legacy of conquest and revolt seems to have stunted its inhabitants' ability to conceive of a time outside this recurrent cycle. At

All perishes, all decays, all is born again.

Ah well, 'tis the way of the world -- births and deaths, births and deaths.

Time, as we all know, passes. Whether it returns in quite the same way is doubtful.

June ripened into July, then burst and withered and dried and became August.

Death. Life. A fish dies. A billion mites eat it and live. In the swamp there is no difference." "There is to the fish," Janet said. "You're a shitty philosopher, so don't try.

Except it'll still be summer," Plum said. "Backward seasons.