Quotes About Transition

I don't like the climate, the people, their way of life. Nothing ever happens and then one morning you wake up and find that you are 65.

Here's a wagon that's going a piece of the way. It will take you that far; backrolling now behind her a long monotonous succession of peaceful and undeviating changes from day to dark and dark to day again, through which she advanced in identical and anonymous and deliberate wagons as though through a succession of creakwheeled and limpeared avatars, like something moving forever and without progress across an urn.

Then the dark began to go in smooth, bright shapes, like it always does, even when Caddy says that I have been asleep.

I can remember how when I was young I believed death to be a phenomenon of the body; now I know it to be merely a function of the mind—and that of the minds of the ones who suffer the bereavement. The nihilists say it is the end; the fundamentalists, the beginning; when in reality it is no more than a single tenant or family moving out of a tenement or town.

When I was young I believed death to be a phenomenon of the body; now I know it to be merely a function of the mind - and that of the minds of the ones who suffer the bereavement. The nihilists say it is the end; the fundamentalists, the beginning; when in reality it is no more than a single tenant or family moving out of a tenement or a town.

I feel better! I feel! I feel!" until he quit that too and said quietly, looking at the familiar wall, the familiar twin door through which he was about to pass, with tragic and passive clairvoyance: "Something is going to happen to me.

Po jakim? czasie cz?owiek przyzwyczaja si?, zapomina i nawet nie czuje, ?e zimno, bo zapomnia?, co to jest ciep?o.

It ain't the man a woman cares for that reaps the harvest of passion, you know: it's the next man that comes along after she's lost the other one.

Addie: My father said that the reason for living is getting ready to stay dead.

as he strode on, moving almost as fast as a smaller man could have trotted, his body breasting the air her body had vacated, his eyes touching the objects—post and tree and field and house and hill—her eyes had lost.

I can remember how when I was young I believed death to be a phenomenon of the body; now I know it to be merely a function of the mind--and that of the minds of the ones who suffer the bereavement. The nihilists say it is the end; the fundamentalists, the beginning; when in reality it is no more than a single tenant or family moving out of a tenement or a town.

Hasta me acuerdo de cómo, cuando yo era joven, creía que la muerte era un fenómeno del cuerpo; sin embargo, ahora sé que no es más que una función de la mente: una función de las mentes de quienes sufren la pérdida. Los nihilistas dicen que la muerte es el final; los funcionalistas, que el comienzo; pero en realidad no es más que un simple inquilino o familia que deja su habitación o su ciudad.

In truth, difficult as it was, pulling up stakes was in many ways easier than staying. It gave me an excellent excuse to postpone mundane but frightening decisions about where and how to live. I would disappear from the overdetermined, underwhelming world of disco-dulled, energy crisis America. I might even become another person- someone more to my liking- in the antipodes.

But Southern California, in its sprawling, edgeless blandness, was losing its baseline status in my mind. It was no longer the place by which all other places had to be measured.

Somewhere, deep within her, surfaces a tiny clockwork submarine. There are times when you can only take the next step. And then another.

Stability is the beginning of the end. We only walk by continually beginning to fall forward.

We are come not only past the century's closing, he thought, the millennium's turning, but to the end of something else. Era? Paradigm? Everywhere, the signs of closure.

Neighborhoods that mainly operated at night had a way of looking a lot worse in the morning.

Between stations there was a gray shudder beyond the windows of the silent train. Not as of surfaces rushing past, but as if particulate matter were being vibrated there at some crucial rate, just prior to the emergence of a new order of being. Chia and Masahiko

Because she was dead, and I'd let her go. Because, now, she was immortal, and I'd helped her get that way. And because I knew she'd phone me, in the morning.

Where, it comes to her, she was sometimes happy, in the sense of being somehow complete, and ready for what another day might bring. And knows she is no longer that, and that while she was, she scarcely knew it.

Boy, I was daid.

And then you pushed through into a dim space inhabited by a faintly confusing sense of the half-dozen other bars that had tried and failed in the same room under different managements.

It had always felt to me as though Washington, D.C., to Boston was one span of stuff. You never really leave Springsteenland, you're just in this unbroken highway and strip-mall landscape.