Quotes About Transition

It was like standing on a threshold, a door in the world that would open into a place you'd never expected to be, a place from which you couldn't return. Welcome or unwelcome, knowledge was something you could never undo.

I liked beginnings better than endings.

The world was going to change again. I should have worn nicer shoes.

I'd given up on the white picket fence after Kisten had died—finding out my kids would be demons was the nail in the coffin.

Looking at everything, I started to feel nauseous, as if the seventies had taken refuge here against extinction and were preparing to take over the world.

What do you want me to do? Marry you? People grow up! Move away! I'm going to college, not the moon!

Skimmer's and my relationship was probably going to nosedive like a brick with wings.

I was standing in a line, balanced between reality and the ever-after. I could go either way. I wasn't his yet. "One day a week," I said, knees wobbling. "I give you Newt's mark, you give me my name," Al said, then wiggled his fingers as if he needed me to take them to finish the deal. I reached for it, and at the last moment, Al's glove melted away, and I found myself gripping his hand.

Ivy had loved him, too—deeper, on a gut level, with the strength of the past, not like my new love, based on the idea of a future.

But they're dying. The church, I mean," she added as I met her eyes. "No new members. It's sad, really. The

Sunt qui discessum animi a corpore putent esse mortem. Sunt erras

We have come a long way, we have a long way to go. In between we are somewhere.

Nothing was ever normal again. Many lives change like that -- all of a sudden, and forever.

Of course there is always resistance, always a drag on movement toward better things. The dead hand of the past clutches us by way of living people who are too frightened to accept change.

We are the primitives of an unknown civilization

a postcarbon landscape, each

Max Planck once said that a new paradigm takes over not when it convinces its opponents, but when its opponents eventually die.

And so: change. The inexorable emergence of difference in time. Becoming. One of the fundamental mysteries. Charlie hated it. He liked being; he hated becoming.

But that was back in the twentieth century, in the dark ages

the shift from feudal land power to bourgeois money power was complete.

It's not as if she needs the torch anymore, the welcome beacon to immigrants having been long since snuffed out. Probably

History directing evolution.

But things change as time passes; nothing lasts, not even stone, not even happiness.

What's the point? we asked. No more fishing. Good, we said.