Quotes About Transition

Every year, when you're a child, you become a different person.

It occurred to him, and had occurred to him before, that there was after all something to be said for dealing with things the way most people of his age seemed to do. It was sensible perhaps to stop noticing, to believe that this was still the same world they were living in, with some dreadful but curable aberrations, never to understand how the whole arrangement had altered.

Durante mucho tiempo te desprendes del pasado con facilidad y de una forma que parece automática y adecuada. Las escenas del pasado, más que desvanecerse, dejan de tener importancia. Y entonces se produce una brusca vuelta atrás, lo que está acabado y bien acabado resurge de repente, requiere tu atención, incluso que hagas algo al respecto, aunque salte a la vista que no se puede hacer nada.

Aunt Elspeth and Auntie Grace stood in their doorway, ceremoniously, to watch me go, and I felt as if I were a ship with their hope on it, dropping down over the horizon.

Eu disse que a única coisa que me incomodava, um pouco, era o fato de haver uma pressuposição de que nada mais ia acontecer na nossa vida. Nada importante para nós, nada que precisasse ainda ser resolvido.

There was still that strange hesitation and lightness about her, as if she were waiting for life to begin.

The dead are never exactly seen by the living, but many people seem acutely aware of something changed around them. They speak of a chill in the air. The mates of the deceased wake from dreams and see a figure standing at the end of thier bed, or in a doorway, or boarding, phantomlike, a city bus.

Then a little voice in him said, Let go, let go, let go

At fourteen my sister sailed away from me into a place I'd never been. In the walls of my sex there was horror and blood, in the walls of hers there were windows.

My life was over; my life had just begun.

Once released from life, having lost it in such violence, I couldn't calculate my steps. I didn't have time for contemplation. In violence it is the getting out that you concentrate on. When you begin to go over the edge, life receding from you as a boat recedes inevitably from the shore, you hold on to death tightly, like a rope that will transport you, and you swing out on it, hoping to land away from where you are.

You don't notice the dead leaving when they really hoose to leave you. You're not meant to. At most you feel them as a whisper or the wave of a whisper undulating down.

When the dead are done with the living, the living can go on to other things.

When you begin to go over the edge, life receding from you as a boat recedes inevitably from shore, you hold on to death tightly, like a rope that will transport you, and you swing out on it, hoping only to land away from where you are.

This little girl's grown up by now, she said. Almost. Not quite. I wish you all a long and happy life.

When the dead are done with the living," Franny said to me, "the living can go on to other things.

They kissed. They wanted to do more but couldn't. Samuel wanted it to be special. He was aware that it should be perfect. Lindsey just wanted to get it over with. Have it behind her so she could achieve adulthood—transcend the place and the time. She thought of sex as the Star Trek transport. You vaporized and found yourself navigating another planet within the second or two it took to realign.

You don't notice the dead leaving when they really choose to leave you. You're not meant to. At most you feel them as a whisper or the wave of a whisper undulating down. I would compare it to a woman in the back of a lecture hall or theater whom no one notices until she slips out. Then only those near the door themselves, like Grandma Lynn, notice; to the rest it is like an unexplained breeze in a closed room.

She look like she ain't long for this world but dressed well for the next.

Even as I hold you I think of you as someone gone far, far away. Your eyes the color of pennies in a bowl of dark honey bringing sweet light to someone else your black hair slipping through my fingers is the flash of your head going around a corner your smile, breaking before me, the flippant last turn of a revolving door, emptying you out, changed, away from me. Even as I hold you I am letting go.

At menopause, a time of extremely high power and shapeshifting, we are told to behave as though nothing is happening. To continue the "game" of life as if we are still girls. We are not girls. And to continue to act as though we are robs the world and the coming generations of our insights.

Tashi knows she is learning a way of life she will never live.

There's no return from this, no way we will ever come back together again. She tried to accept this clarity as a gift.

It seems wiser to do as hermit crabs do, find a shell and inhabit it.