Quotes About Transition

There had been times when he knew, somewhere in him, that he would get used to it, whatever it was, because he had learnt that some hard things became softer after a very little while.

I used to think--and given the way we ended up, maybe I still do--that all relationships need the kind of violent shove that a crush brings, just to get you started and to push you over the humps. And then, when the energy from that shove has gone and you come to something approaching a halt, you have to look around and see what you've got. It could be something completely different, it could be something roughly the same, but gentler and calmer, or it could be nothing at all.

You wouldn't believe that so much could change just because a relationship ended.

So now what? What happens when words fail us?

I loved them, and would always love them. But there was no place where they could fit anymore, so I had nowhere to put all the things I felt. I didn't know what to do with them, and they didn't know what to do with me, and isn't that just like life?

Ho da poco scoperto che la mia amica Mary, quando finisce un libro, fa passare qualche giorno prima di cominciarne un altro - vuole dare all'ultima lettura un po' più di respiro, prima che venga soffocata dalla prossima. È una cosa sensata, e mi sembra una linea di comportamento assolutamente lodevole. Noi che leggiamo nevroticamente, tuttavia - per scongiurare la noia e il timore dell'ignoranza e della nostra morte imminente - non possiamo permetterci di farlo.

Marcus was difficult simply because he frequently gave the impression that he was merely stopping off on this planet on his way to somewhere else, somewhere he might fit in better.

And that's the last time we will ever speak, probably. 'No problem': the last words I will ever say to somebody I have been reasonably close to before our lives take different directions. Weird, eh? You spend Christmas at somebody's house, you worry about their operations, you give them hugs and kisses and flowers, you see them in their dressing gown...and then, bang, that's it. Gone forever. And sooner or later there will be another mum, another Christmas, more varicose veins.

I feel as though I have been having conversations like this all my life. None of us is young anymore, but what has just taken place could have happened when I was sixteen, or twenty, or twenty-five. We got to adolescence and just stopped dead; we drew up the map then and left the boundaries exactly as they were.

It had only taken me six years to change from a ten-year-old to a sixteen-year-old; surely six years wasn't long enough for a transformation of that magnitude.

Life was about to begin, so Arsenal had to go.

I'm stuck in this pose, this shop-managing pose, forever, because of a few short weeks in 1979 when I went a bit potty for a while. It could be worse, I guess; I could have walked into an army recruiting office, or the nearest Slaughterhouse. But even so, I feel as though I made a face and the wind changed, and now I have to go through life grimacing in this horrible way.

She didn't want her father to die. She would mourn him. She owed him . . . not everything, exactly, because there were lots of things she'd had to obtain for herself, but enough. If, however, the choice was between a brief good-bye and a new life, then it was no choice at all.

Pero lo que resultaba raro a su edad era que uno se pasaba la mitad del tiempo soñando con lo que podía suceder y la otra mitad intentando no pensar en eso, y en ambos casos uno se encontraba aprisionado en un periodo vital que no parecía importar demasiado, a mitad de camino entre la infancia y lo que implicara la madurez consolidada. (...)Y tal vez eso no tuviera ningún futuro, pero era un presente, y en eso consiste la vida.

But nobody ever writes about how it is possible to escape and rot—how escapes can go off at half-cock, how you can leave the suburbs for the city but end up living a limp suburban life anyway.

back in gear, she closed the door on him. She leaned against it, felt the heat drain from her cheek into the cold wood. And then the dog was there with her in the narrow hallway. She smelled the meat on

Merea bertiga harus kehilangan sesuatu dalam rangka untuk memperoleh hal lainnya.

All I know is that you could, if you wanted to, find the answers to all sorts of difficult questions buried in that terrible war-torn interregnum between the first pubic hair and the first soiled Trojan.

you had to do, it seemed, was ask for an inferior version of the life you'd had before and London would give it to you.

Geochemistry gives rise seamlessly to biochemistry.

After Arthur sent me away for my own good, it' like my life switched from color to black and white--like the ending of The Wizard of Oz.

At times I believed that the last page of my book and the last page of my life were one and the same, that when my book ended I'd end, a great wind would sweep through my rooms carrying the pages away, and when the air cleared of all those fluttering white sheets the room would be silent, the chair where I sat empty.

The moment had passed, the door between the lives we could have led and the lives we led had shut in our faces.

I forced myself to picture the last moments. The penultimate breath. A final sigh. And yet. It was always followed by another.