Quotes About Transition

The world turned, and new stories rose up, and the legends of the old days faltered a little, or turned themselves in their course to keep up with the lives of their people, and the lives of great-grandchildren of those they had first known.

Awareness precedes choice and choice precedes change.

You will always feel a little discomfort when you are installing a new habit.

There is in the worst of fortune the best chances for a happy change.

Si te encuentras con un resultado que no esperabas y te sientes decepcionado, recuerda que las leyes de la naturaleza especifican que cuando una puerta se cierra otra se abre.

For the first few days, you will feel very tired.

Todo cambio es duro al principio, desordenado a la mitad y precioso al final».

The old you must die so a better you can be reborn.

His time had come and I do not question his exit.

the top of one mountain is the bottom of the next.

sometimes the foundations we stand on must fall so that they may be replaced with even stronger ones. Breakthroughs require breakdowns. Progress cannot happen without upheaval and the birth of something better always demands a death of something familiar.

What the caterpillar calls the end of the world the master calls the butterfly

The old 'you' must die before the best 'you' can be born.

cuando una puerta se cierra otra se abre.

All change is hard at first, messy in the middle and gorgeous at the end

Confía en que el invierno de tu congoja cederá ante el verano de tu alegría, del mismo modo que los rayos brillantes de la mañana siempre siguen a la parte más oscura de la noche.

The journey is always better than the end.

Lo que la oruga llama fin del mundo, el maestro lo llama mariposa», escribió una vez el escritor y piloto de aviación Richard Bach.

growth can be scary.

Tal vez había llegado la hora de reinventar mi destino

All change is hard at first, messy in the middle and so gorgeous at the end.

Change is hard at first, messy in the middle and gorgeous at the end

See them in their golden hour, a flood of girls high on the ecstasy of the final bell, tumbling onto the city bus, all gawky limbs and Wonderbra cleavage, chewed nails picking at eruptive zits, lips nibbling and eyes scrunching in a doomed attempt not to cry. Girls with plaid skirts tugged unfathomably high above the knee, girls seizing the motion of the bus to throw themselves bodily into their objects of affection.

The days had no shape. They passed, which was good enough.