Quotes About Transition

In the month of red leaves I climb to a bed of fire.

And of course I didn't know who would marry me now that I'd been where I had been. I didn't know at all.

I'm collecting my strength; one day I shall manage without her, and she'll perish with emptiness then, and begin to miss me

And I, stepping from this skin Of old bandages, boredoms, old faces Step to you from the black car of Lethe, Pure as a baby.

It didn't seem to be summer any more. I could feel the winter shaking my bones and banging my teeth together, and the big white hotel towel I had dragged down with me lay under my head, numb as a snowdrift.

It won't happen yet, Ellen mused, mashing cooked carrots for Jill's lunch. Breakups seldom do. It will unfold slowly, one little tell- tale symptom after another like some awful, hellish flower.

The one thing I was good at was winning scholarships and prizes, and that era was coming to an end. I felt like a racehorse in a world without racetracks or a champion college footballer suddenly confronted by Wall Street and a business suit, his days of glory shrunk to a little gold cup on his mantel with a date engraved on it like a tombstone.

What do you have in mind after you graduate? I really don't know, I heard myself say. I felt a deep shock hearing myself say that, because the minute I said it, I knew it was true.

I had been inadequate all along, I simply hadn't thought about it. The one thing I was good at was winning scholarships and prizes, and that era was coming to an end. I felt like a racehorse in a world without race-tracks...

The room blued into view, and I wondered where the night had gone.

The eyes and faces all turned themselves towards me, and guiding myself by them, as by a magical thread, I stepped into the room.

And this is how it stiffens, my vision of that seaside childhood. My father died, we moved inland. Whereon those nine first years of my life sealed themselves off like a ship in a bottle—beautiful, inaccessible, obsolete, a fine, white flying myth.

I saw the years of my life spaced along a road in the form of telephone poles, threaded together by wires. I counted one, two, three . . . nineteen telephone poles, and then the wires dangled into space, and try as

It didn't seem to be summer any more. I could feel the winter shaking my bones and banging my teeth together, and the big white hotel towel I had dragged down with me lay under my head numb as a snowdrift.

People and trees receded on either hand like the dark sides of a tunnel as I hurtled on to the still, bright point at the end of it, the pebble at the bottom of the well, the white sweet baby cradled in its mother's belly.

The eyes and the faces all turned themselves towards me, and guiding myself by them, as by a magical thread, I stepped into the room.

I am alone in my room, between two worlds

Girl, aging girl, is haunted by own nothingness & devours views from windows (stories, movies, overheard talk &sights in the street, pictures in newspapers, etc.) with continuous feeling she is 'just about', miraculously, to come into her own her own life

I had the impression it wasn't night and it wasn't day, but some lurid third interval that had suddenly slipped between them and would never end.

Pensé que la letra minúscula al principio podía significar que nunca nada era en su comienzo realmente nuevo, con mayúscula, sino que todo fluía de lo anterior.

The one thing I was good at was winning scholarships and prizes, and that era was coming to the end. I felt like a racehorse in a world without racetracks or a champion college footballer suddenly confronted by Wall Street and a business suit, his days of glory shrunk to a little gold cup on his mantel with a date engraved on it like the date on a tombstone. I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story.

I picked up my pocketbook and started back over the cold stones to where my shoes kept their vigil in the violet light.

The only thing I was good at was winning scholarships and prizes, and that era was coming to an end

Me sentía deprimida. Había sido desenmascarada esa misma mañana por la propia Jota Ce y sentía ahora que todas las incómodas sospechas que tenía sobre mí misma se confirmaban y que no podría ocultar la verdad por mucho más tiempo. Al cabo de diecinueve años de correr tras buenas calificaciones y premios y becas de una u otra clase, estaba abandonando, disminuyendo la velocidad, saliéndome abiertamente de la carrera.