Quotes About Adaptation

I know it might be better for you to come out from under your might-have-beens, into the winds of the world.

Let's get it over and the door closed shut on it! Let's close it like a book and go on reading! New chapter, new life.

You can't make a race horse of a pig. No, said Samuel, but you can make a very fast pig.

Morning seems to come earlier every year I live.

You can't make a race horse of a pig." "No," said Samuel, "but you can make a very fast pig.

Ä°nsan bazen o kadar kendi d???nda davran?r ki, size '' Bunu yapm?? olamaz. Karakterine ayk?r?, dedirtir. Belki de deÄŸildir. Yaln?zca baÅŸka bir aç? söz konusu olabilir veya yukar?dan aÅŸa??dan gelen bask?lar kiÅŸinin davran?? ÅŸeklini deÄŸiÅŸtirebilir.

The misery stayed, not thought about but aching away, and sometimes I would have to ask myself, Why do I ache? Men can get used to anything, but it takes time.

The little engine roared and then stopped. Adam sat back for a moment, limp but proud, before he got out. The postmaster looked out between the bars of his golden grill. I see you've got one of the damn things, he said. Have to keep up with the times, said Adam. I predict there'll come a time when you can't find a horse, Mr. Trask. Maybe so. They'll change the face of the countryside. They get their clatter into everything, the postmaster went on.

You don't seem like the same man." "I'm not. Maybe nobody is, for long.

Things do not change with a change of scene.

I was mean life a wolf. Now i'm mean like a weasel. When you're huntin' somepin you're a hunter, an' you're strong. Can't nobody beat a hunter. But when you get hunted--that's different. Somepin happens to you. You ain't strong; maybe you're fierce, but you ain't strong. I been hunted now for a long time. I ain't no hunter no more.

It is said that in a foreign country impressions are sharp and accurate for a month, and then they become blurred, and the reactions are not accurate again for five years, so that one should stay either one month or five years in a country.

Bleedin' like a son-of-a-bitch, he said. Well, I can stop that. He urinated on the ground, picked up a handful of the resulting mud, and plastered it over the wound.

He was forever inventing a new way of doing an old thing and doing it better and quicker, but he never in his whole life had any talent for making money.

It's a hard thing to leave any deeply routined life, even if you hate it.

Samuel smiled at him. "They say man lived in trees one time. Somebody had to get dissatisfied with a high limb or your feet would not be touching flat ground now.

It is a hard thing to leave any deeply routined life, even if you hate it.

Then crop failure, drought, and flood were no longer little deaths within life, but simple losses of money. And all their love was thinned with money, and all their fierceness dribbled away in interest until they were no longer farmers at all, but little shopkeepers of crops, little manufacturers who must sell before they can make.

When two people meet, each one is changed by the other so you've got two new people.

Boys were stunned by the size and grandeur of the West End after their background in a one-room country school. The opulence of having a teacher for each grade made a deep impression on them. It seemed wasteful. But as is true of all humans, they were stunned for one day, admiring on the second, and on the third day could not remember very clearly ever having gone to any.

It is a hard thing to live any deeply routine life, even if you hate it.

Besides, as Cyrus became more military, his wife learned the only technique through which a soldier can survive. She never made herself noticeable, never spoke unless spoken to, performed what was expected and no more, and tried for no promotions. She became a rear rank private. It was much easier that way. Alice retired to the background until she was barely visible at all.

I don't know what directed his steps toward the Salinas Valley. It was an unlikely place for a man from a green country to come to, but he came about thirty years before the turn of the century and brought with him his tiny Irish wife, a tight hard little woman humorless as a chicken. She had a dour Presbyterian mind and a code of morals that pinned down and beat the brains out of nearly everything that was pleasant to do.

It is true that we are weak and sick and quarrelsome, but if that is all we ever were, we would, millenniums ago, have disappeared from the face of the earth. A few remnants of fossilized jawbone, some broken teeth in strata of limestone, would be the only mark man would have left of his existence in the world.