Quotes About Transition

In later years, when Lady Bird Johnson would talk about the time that her husband had been a senator, she would sometimes say, those were the happiest twelve years of our lives. Those years had been happy - and now they were over. The Senate had been Lyndon Johnson's home. Now he had left it.

It was almost like there was something wicked about growing up.

She didn't want to look ahead to the days and the months and the years with him. Here, now, in this room, it was all right, but later? Again, time couldn't stop. And she saw at last that time only stopped when you were dead...Time was always moving and nothing could stay the same, everything was always changing, for better or for worse. And you had to change with time, with the seasons and the years, or you would be dead too, although your heart would continue to beat.

When long-term convicts were first released they often experienced a form of agoraphobia—a fear of open spaces. The prison counselors had a special name for this type of agoraphobia when they attributed it to convicts—the fear of life. Freedom gave a man choices and choices could be terrifying. Every choice was a potential failure.

The attendant smiled a goodbye at the door. "You look much better." "I've achieved a measure of peace with my uncertainty.

Jon went back inside, and Googled pictures of Jacob Breslyn. He found a tall young man with a thin face, relaxed smile, and high forehead. Geeky, but growing into himself. An everyday, normal civilian. Jon

He went out the front door. The sun was blinding after being in the dim house. He walked back to Perry's car, feeling like a boat without a rudder, trapped in a current. He had no place to go and no idea what to do.

We went through an unmarked door and along a sterile tile corridor and through another unmarked door and then we were in the Blue Corridor and then the Blue Room.

Jon started up the steps, and then he was gone. Amy wouldn't see him at first. She'd be lost in her thoughts, checking off the rational steps that led to her rational death, and each of those steps would make perfect, inevitable sense. Until she saw Jon. Everything would change when she saw him. Jon would offer a different path.

He left ICM last year to start his own talent agency and things just haven't gone the way they should. He's had to worry about the house payments and the cars and schools.

Europe's era of internal cohesion may already be past.

So many transformations!

A better age would have to follow.

ALL POST-COMMUNIST SOCIETIES ARE uprooted ones because Communism uprooted traditions, so nothing fits with anything else," explained the philosopher Patapievici.

There comes a day in every man's life when he stops looking forward and starts looking back.

There comes a time in every man's life," he'd said in the halting, ghostly voice his stroke had left him, "when he stops looking forward and starts looking back.

Day before yesterday I saw a rabbit, and yesterday a deer, and today, you.

The sun was warm but the wind was chill. You know how it is with an April day. When the sun is out and the wind is still, You're one month on in the middle of May. But if you so much as dare to speak, a cloud come over the sunlit arch, And wind comes off a frozen peak, And you're two months back in the middle of March.

Like a piece of ice on a hot stove the poem must ride on its own melting.

The question that he frames in all but words is what to make of a diminished thing.

No, this is no beginning. Then an end? End is a gloomy word.

Door in the Dark: In going from room to room in the dark, I reached out blindly to save my face, But neglected, however lightly, to lace My fingers and close my arms in an arc. A slim door got in past my guard, And hit me a blow in the head so hard I had my native simile jarred. So people and things don't pair any more With what they used to pair with before.

And the dead leaves lie huddled and still, No longer blown hither and thither; The last lone aster is gone; The flowers of the witch hazel wither; The heart is still aching to seek, But the feet question 'Whither?' Ah, when to the heart of man Was it ever less than a treason To go with the drift of things, To yield with a grace to reason, And bow and accept the end Of a love or a season?

A Late Walk - A Tree beside the wall stands bare, But a leaf that lingered brown, Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought, comes softly rattling down. I end not far from my going forth By picking the faded blue Of the last remaining aster flower to carry again to you.