Quotes About Transition

the sweetness had gone so quickly from her

That was when it happened, exactly then, the end of a phase, the mental click as the last strand of my private resistance gave way; when I admitted, looking down at his candid blue eyes: there's nothing I wouldn't do for you, absolutely nothing.

Looking backward through life, one can see the points of change like great locks through which one glides on a flood wave, so smoothly, on such irresistible power that one is hardly aware of any movement. But life is never the same again. One has gone through the lock and lives on a new level.

It's not a competition, it's a doorway.

A Thousand Mornings All night my heart makes its way however it can over the rough ground of uncertainties, but only until night meets and then is overwhelmed by morning, the light deepening, the wind easing and just waiting, as I too wait (and when have I ever been disappointed?) for redbird to sing

Where has this cold come from? "It comes from the death of your friend." Will I always, from now on, be this cold? "No, it will diminish. But always it will be with you." What is the reason for it? "Wasn't your friendship always as beautiful as a flame?

When death comes…. I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering: what it's going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

to be absent from the world and alive, again, in another...

There was only myself and the world, and it was I who was leaving.

knowing as we must, how the vivacity of what was is married to the vitality of what will be? I don't say it's easy, but what else will do

But all my life—so far— I have loved best how the flowers rise and open, how the pink lungs of their bodies enter the fire of the world and stand there shining and willing—the one thing they can do before they shuffle forward into the floor of darkness, they become the trees.

I try to remember when time's measure painfully chafes, for instance when autumn flares out at the last, boisterous and like us longing to stay - how everything lives, shifting from one bright vision to another, forever in these momentary pastures.

Well, who knows. Who knows what hung, fluttering, at the window between him and the darkness. Anyway, Blake the hosier's son stood up and turned away from the sooty sill and the dark city— turned away forever from the factories, the personal strivings, to a life of the imagination.

What shall I do? When I pick up the broom he leaves the room. When I fuss with kindling he runs for the yard. Then he's back, and we hug for a long time. In his low-to-the-ground chest I can hear his heart slowing down. Then I rub his shoulders and kiss his feet and fondle his long hound ears. Benny, I say, don't worry. I also know the way the old life haunts the new.

There was someone I loved who grew old and ill. One by one I watched the fires go out. There was nothing I could do except to remember that we receive then we give back.

When death is about to happen does the body grow heavier, or lighter?

I wanted the past to go away, I wanted to leave it, like another country; I wanted my life to close, and open like a hinge, like a wing, like the part of the song where it falls down over the rocks: an explosion, a discovery; I wanted to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know whoever I was, I was alive for a little while.

to go on, which was: to go back.

the past, the future, the doorway that belongs to you and me.

And I walk on, over the shoulder of summer and down across the red-dappled fall

Everything can change in an instant.

There is one thing dead people excel at. They're

My mom was never a cadaver; no person ever is. You are a person and then you cease to be a person, and a cadaver takes your place. My mother was gone. The cadaver was her hull. Or that was how it seemed to me.

We never do what we wish when we wish it, and when we desire a thing earnestly, and it does arrive, that or we are changed, so that we slide from the summit of our wishes and find ourselves where we were.