Quotes About Transition

Adolescence is the most Technicolor time in our lives. It's the time when adulthood is new and we care most about it. It contains the highs and lows that excite me as a writer.

You could name the great stars of the silent screen who were finished; the great directors gone; the great title writers who were washed up. But remember this, as long as you live: the producers didn't lose a man. They all made the switch. That's where the great talent is.

I am dismayed to realize that much of the advice I used to parcel out to aspiring writers has passed its sell-by date.

The many magazines, ranging from pulp to slick, that used to serve as both farm teams for writers and lures to readers, with hundreds of short stories every month, don't exist. Most of the doors for new people have been sealed.

Eventually, I started writing down a bunch of titles that related to childhood themes and would pair it with an adult situation that either I was going through or someone else in my life was going through.

I started off writing TV adverts. I saw those as rehearsals for a feature film.

I couldn't wait to get out of school, but once I did, I didn't actually know what I wanted to do with myself. I don't really know how it happened, but I just started writing music and realized that's what I wanted to do.

The day the producers aren't minting money, or the fans are done with me and, most of all, I as a person get bored of acting, I will stop and pursue my other interests. There is a lot to do: painting, writing, direction.

All paths lead to the same place, and that place is whatever comes next.

I have the distinct feeling I'm not in Oz anymore,' said Brrr.

Within a few moments the last of day became the first of night, a magic as peculiar and welcome as any other.

and Ama Clutch was gone, and the overly subordinate pillowcase took a small spill of human juice from the edge of her slackened mouth.

Winter still comes after autumn though you may have died over the summer.

It's just that that was such a wonderful time, even in its strangeness and sadness-and life isn't the same now. It's wonderful, but it isn't the same.

How she wanted to put away adult things and go back to seeing through a looking-glass, darkly.

Death might be the only way forward for someone. Or it might seem so at the time

Those boys and us—we only seem to be sharing a life here. The young are entirely separate. They are someplace else right now. They won't join us in our lives, really, until they are grown. And by then, who will they become? People I don't know. And I may not even be here when they get here.

The day is wound up and begins even before the last haunted dreams, the last of the fog, those spectral and evanescent residues, have faded away.

A perfect word for my new life. Unbecoming. I who have always been unbecoming am becoming un.

Night is brushed aside like so much cobweb. The day is wound up and begins even before the last haunted dreams, the last of the fog, those spectral and evanescent residues, have faded away.

Night-time is being brushed aside like so much cobweb. The day is wound up and begins even before the last haunted dreams, the last of the fog, those spectral and evanescent residues, have faded away.

Those who sit in the house of grief will someday sit in the garden.

How many times in a life, he thought, will I lie down in a darkness whose character I cannot imagine, to see what daybreak reveals of my new circumstances? Or is that every day of my life?

He set out once more, with a sense that his life would be rich in setting outs, and perhaps poorer in homecomings.