Quotes About Transition

He had moved from thought to words, and now from words to actions.

The idea really came to me the day I got my new false teeth.

It was somehow slightly frightening, like the gambolling of tiger cubs which will soon grow up into man-eaters.

After the sorts of winters we have had to endure recently, the spring does seem miraculous, because it has become gradually harder and harder to believe that it is actually going to happen. Every February since 1940 I have found myself thinking that this time winter is going to be permanent. But Persephone, like the toads, always rises from the dead at about the same moment. Suddenly, towards the end of March, the miracle happens and the decaying slum in which I live is transfigured.

Sooner or later it would happen: strength would change into consciousness.

They lived at the end of an epoch, when everything was dissolving into a sort of ghastly flux, and they didn't know it. They thought it was eternity. You couldn't blame them. That was what it felt like.

The war had jerked me out of the old life I'd known, but in the queer period that came afterwards I forgot it almost completely.

And it was a queer thing I'd done coming here.

that dreary phenomenon, the middle-class person who is an ardent Socialist at twenty-five and a sniffish Conservative at thirty-five...

Jack Parsons was just such a figure, living on the cusp between an old world in which the very idea of space travel was a scientific absurdity and a new world in which it would become scientific fact.

As the months went by

Autumn is a melancholy and graceful andante, that prepares beautifully solemn adagio of winter

To be interested in the changing seasons is . . . a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring.

All over now. He is either in joy or nothingness. (So why grieve? The worst of it, for him, is over.) Because I loved him so and am in the habit of loving him and that love must take the form of fussing and worry and doing.

I was in error when I saw him as fixed and stable and thought I would have him forever. He was never fixed, nor stable, but always just a passing, temporary energy-burst.

So why grieve? The worst of it, for him, is over.) Because I loved him so and am in the habit of loving him and that love must take the form of fussing and worry and doing. Only there is nothing left to do. Free

All over now. He is either in joy or nothingness. (So why grieve? The worst of it, for him, is over.) Because I loved him so and am in the habit of loving him and that love must take the form of fussing and worry and doing. Only there is nothing left to do.

We might imagine a story as a room-sized black box. The writer's goal is to have the reader go into that box in one state of mind and come out in another. What happens in there has to be thrilling and non-trivial.

Whatever failures you feel you may have been responsible for, leave them behind you now, she said. All turned out beautifully. Come with us. Come where though? I said. I don't - You are a wave that has crashed upon the shore, she said. See, I don't get that, I said.

Oh it was nice, he said sadly. So nice there. But we can't go back. To how we were. All we can do is what we should.

He was leaving here broken, awed, humbled, diminished.

And now must lose them.

Sometimes in life the foundation upon which one stands will give tilt, and everything one has previously believed and held dear will begin sliding about, and suddenly all things will seem strange and new.

Afterward Freddie takes us to Trabanti's for lunch. Last year Trabanti died and three Vietnamese families went in together and bought the place, and it still serves pasta and pizza and the big oil of Trabanti is still on the wall but now from the kitchen comes this very pretty Vietnamese music and the food is somehow better.