Quotes About Transition

lifting him from the certainty of turmoil and dropping him in a turmoil of uncertainty

from the certainty of turmoil and dropping him in a turmoil of uncertainty.

Una storia è come un treno in corsa: in qualunque punto sali a bordo, prima o poi arrivi a destinazione.

America was different. America was a river, roaring along, unmindful of the past. I could wade

Sempre più spesso mi sembra di aggirarmi senza meta, in attesa che qualcosa mi accada, qualcosa che cambierà tutto e verso cui tende tutta la mia vita.

What he yearned for was his old life. What

B? không th? tin r?ng mình Ä'ang r?i b? Kabul. B? h?c ? Ä'ây, ki?m ???c công vi?c ??u tiên ? Ä'ây, tr? thành má»™t ng??i b? ? thành ph? này. Th?t l? lùng khi nghÄ© ??n chuy?n ch?ng bao lâu b? s? ng? dÆ°á»›i má»™t b?u tr?i thành ph? khác.

Kabulul devenise pentru mine un oraÈ™ al fantomelor. Un oraÈ™ al fantomelor cu buze de iepure. America era diferit?. America era un fluviu impetuos, nep?s?tor cu trecutul. Puteam s? m? scufund în fluviul ?sta, s?-mi las p?catele s? se înece la fund, s? las apele s? m? duc? undeva, departe. Undeva unde nu sunt nici fantome, nici amintiri, nici p?cate. Chiar È™i numai pentru asta, am adoptat America.

Tetapi gelombang itu berlalu, seperti segala sesuatu. Berlalu.

Hidup itu bagaikan kereta api, masuklah ke gerbongnya.

In a few years, he will be replaced. The boys will become enamored with other things, other people, embarrassed by him and Nahil.

I could begin there, I suppose. Or somewhere else. A story is like a moving train: no matter where you hop onboard, you are bound to reach your destination sooner or later.

Because when the spring comes it melts the snow one flake at a time...

For the remainder of her days, my grandmother lay in bed, staring past the window into space. It was if a part of her mind had died before her body had time to give up.

So something had begun, and now she could not stop it. Twin threads ran through her: fear and excitement. She could leave this place today. She could start a new life somewhere else.

Norah looked at her son's tiny face, surprised, as always, by his name. he had not grown into it yet, he still wore it like a wrist band, something that might easily slip off and disappear. She had read about people – where? she could not remember this either – who refused to name their children for several weeks, feeling them to be not yet of the earth, suspended still between two worlds.

It's funny how things seem different, suddenly.

She saw herself moving through another life, an exotic, difficult, satisfying life.

Grief, it seemed, was a physical place.

A film closed over the past as she spoke, a barrier as brittle and fragile as ice forming. It would grow and strengthen. It would become impenetrable, opaque.

her. After graduation she had worked for six months at the telephone company, a job she'd not enjoyed

For if the worst had already happened to them in the eyes of the world, then surely, surely, it was the worst that they left behind them now.

She had read about people-where? she could not remember this either- who refused to name their children for several weeks, feeling them to not be yet of the earth, suspeded still between two worlds.

Grown now, he stood in a train station or on the sidewalk beneath fluttering leaves or strode across a street. He paused in front of shop windows, or reached into his pocket for a ticket, or shaded his eyes against the sun. He'd grown from her body and now, astonishingly, he moved through the world without her. She