Quotes About Transition

upon the trees. Though the earth was cold and wet, the sky was clear, and the sun rose bright, placid, and beautiful. "Eighteen years!

If, any sunny forenoon, she had spread a little pair of wings and flown away before my eyes, I don't think I should have regarded it as much more than I had had reason to expect.

The night crept on apace, the moon went down, the stars grew pale and dim, and morning, cold as they, slowly approached.

Your day is done. Night is coming fast for you." - Nickolas Nickleby

was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of

Boys are very like men to be sure.

I do not find it easy to get sufficiently far away from this Book, in the first sensations of having finished it, to refer to it with the composure which this formal heading would seem to require. My interest in it, is so recent and strong; and my mind is so divided between pleasure and regret—

One always begins to forgive a place as soon as it's left behind;

Gradualmente desertó el auditorio y parpadearon algunas luces en las casuchas, luces que, en vez de apagarse, no parecía sino que habían huido al cielo para convertirse en estrellas.

But Mr. and Mrs. Micawber were so used to their old difficulties, I think, that they felt quite shipwrecked when they came to consider that they were released from them.

Fu, per me, un giorno memorabile, gravido di profondi cambiamenti nella mia vita. Ma succede così per qualunque vita. Immaginate di eliminarne un certo giorno, e pensate un po' come il suo corso sarebbe stato diverso! Fermati, tu che leggi, e pensa per un attimo alla lunga catena di ferro o d'oro, di spine o di fiori, che mai ti avrebbe legato se, in un solo memorabile giorno, non se ne fosse costruito il primo anello.

As if, in the gap he had left, the wedge of change were driven to the head, rending what was a solid mass to fragments, things cemented and held together by the usages of years, burst asunder in as many weeks. The mine which Time has slowly dug beneath familiar objects is sprung in an instant; and what was rock before, becomes but sand and dust.

But fashions are like human beings. They come in, nobody knows when, why, or how; and they go out, nobody knows when, why, or how. Everything is like life, in my opinion, if you look at it in that point of view.

Mr. Wopsle's great-aunt conquered a confirmed habit of living into which she had fallen, and Biddy became a part of our establishment.

Once more, the mists were rising as I walked away. If they disclosed to me, as I suspect they did, that I should not come back, and that Biddy was quite right, all I can say is—they were quite right too.

The present convergence of crises––in money, energy, education, health, water, soil, climate, politics, the environment, and more––is a birth crisis, expelling us from the old world into a new.

We sense that 'normal' isn't coming back, that we are being born into a new normal: a new kind of society, a new relationship to the earth, a new experience of being human.

Even the most thorough change happens once choice at a time

It is quite normal to fear what one most desires. We desire to transcend the Story of the World that has come to enslave us, that indeed is killing the planet. We fear what the end of that story will bring: the demise of much that is familiar. Fear it or not, it is happening already.

The old world falls apart, but the new has not emerged. Everything that once seemed permanent and real is revealed as a kind of hallucination. You don't know what to think, what to do; you don't know what anything means anymore. The life trajectory you had plotted out seems absurd, and you can't imagine another one. Everything is uncertain.

The procrastination, the laziness, the halfhearted attempts, the going through the motions—all indicate that the old story isn't motivating you anymore. What once made sense, makes sense no longer. You are beginning to withdraw from that world. Society does its best to persuade you to resist that withdrawal, which, when resisted, is called depression.

We received it on a cultural level when the Age of Aquarius morphed into the age of Ronald Reagan,

It is apparent that "practical" isn't working as well as it used to. Not only because what was once practical is insufficient to our need, but also because it is increasingly impotent in its native realm: the practical is no longer practical. Like it or not, we are being born into a new world.

We do not have a new story yet.