Quotes About Transition

The sense of the world shifting was so strong she swayed in the saddle.

It was strange, seeing her in clothes I had not bought or lent her, drinking wine she had selected without my advice, without needing me there.

Nothing but the sigh of embers into ash.

My face looked like a picture of someone else. I turned this way and that. No, more like a picture of a rock after some vandal has ripped off its decades-old layer of moss and soil, and the bare stone is revealed.

To hear you talk is like hearing him talk when he first become king.

By the time they saw the outer walls of Caer Leon, her legs were steadier though inside she felt a shiver like an ash key twirling too fast in the wind.

Orange is just change, Sara. Not all good, not all bad. Just different.

She knows when to let go. You should, too.

A new Tammy, the tentative beginnings of a new life. But there were still a few threads from the old that needed to be dealt with.

Old ways are not always the best ways.

I ached for them. Most of them would not be able to cling to their bubble world; one day someone, something would thrust it. I wished it could be different.

You've made more of a life here in three weeks than you've done in five years in Atlanta. I only wonder that you've managed to hide from the obvious for so long. This place is ideal for a Norwegian who isn't really Norwegian anymore. It positively reeks of Scandanavia, all clean and shiny and Americanized full of rules that people obey with a smile when it pleases them and break with a smile when it doesn't. Ideal for you.

Autumn blew, leaves fell, flames flickered, and song turned to war.

Her mother, changing sides so gradually, so carefully that even Hild hadn't noticed.

Autumn, like grief, changes everything.

It was like the village all over again; she had won, but still must leave. She could not bear it.

She felt hot, then cold, then nothing at all, like a bubble rising through water, then floating, then lifting free.

Nothing is until it is and until then everything is possible.

Civilizations are the summer noise of insects between two winters.

What is called progress are preparations for a catastrophe.

Humanity will one day solemnly recall the events that initiated the dismantlement of the industrial society.

Alles was ein Tradition unterbricht zwingt zu neuem Anfang. Und jeder Anfang ist blutig.

Everything that interrupts a tradition obliges us to start over. And every origin is bloody .

When they die, aristocracies explode; democracies deflate.