Quotes About Transformation

I did not come into this world to be comforted. I came, like a red bird, to sing. But I'm not a red bird, with his head mop of flame and the red triangle of his mouth full of tongue and whistles, but a woman whose love has vanished, who thinks now, too much, of roots and the dark places where everything is simply holding on.

At first they were just clouds like any other. Then they swelled and swirled; then they hung very still; then they broke open. This is, I suppose, just one of the common miracles, a transformation, not a vision, not an answer, not a proof, but I put it there, close against my heart, where the need is, and it serves the purpose

Have you noticed? Where so many millions of powerful bawling beasts lay down on the earth and died it's hard to tell now what's bone, and what merely was once.

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.

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

You broke the cage and flew.

Previously there were small shops because it was a small town. Now there are small shops because the tourists want to think they are still in that little town, which has vanished.

I lie like land used up, while spring unfolds.

Off they go, hundreds of them, like the black fingerprints of the rain.

I quickly found for myself two such blessings - the natural world, and the world of literature. These were the gates through which I vanished from a difficult place.

who would cry out to the petals on the ground to stay, knowing as we must, how the vivacity of what was is married to the vivacity of what will be?

Clouds have forms, porous and shape-shifting, bumptious, fleecy.

For years and years I struggled just to love my life. And then the butterfly rose, weightless, in the wind. "Don't love your life too much," it said, and vanished into the world.

I have wrestled with the angel and I am stained with light and I have no shame.

Nature there will always be, but it will not be what we have now, much less the deeper fields and woodlands many of us remember from our childhood. The worlds of van Gogh and Turner and Winslow Homer, and Wordsworth too, and Frost and Jeffers and Whitman, are gone, and will not return. We can come to our senses yet, and rescue the world, but we will never return it to anything like its original form.

I felt like a little donkey when his burden is finally lifted. Things! Burn them, burn them! Make a beautiful fire! More room in your heart for love, for the trees! For the birds who nothing--the reason they can fly.

Everything That Was Broken Everything that was broken has forgotten its brokenness. I live now in a sky-house, through every window the sun. Also your presence. Our touching, our stories. Earthy and holy both. How can this be, but it is. Every day has something in it whose name is Forever.

that love us, that is asleep now, and silent- that has turned itself into snow.

But little by little, as you left their voices behind, the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds, and there was a new voice, which you slowly recognized as your own, that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into the world, determined to do the only thing you could do — determined to save the only life you could save.

everything. I felt like the little donkey when his burden is finally lifted. Things! Burn them, burn them! Make a beautiful fire! More room in your heart for love, for the trees! For the birds who own nothing—the reason they can fly.

The cloth sack had turned back into his backpack.

The Ice Wizard had a younger sister who loved him more than anything in the world. One day they fought over something foolish. He lost his temper and told her to leave him alone forever. She ran down to the sea in tears. There she found a flock of swan maidens. They gave her a white feathered dress. She put on the dress and became a swan maiden herself. She flew

He will be lowered into a vat of liquid nitrogen and frozen. From here he will progress to the second chamber, where either ultrasound waves or mechanical vibration will be used to break his easily shattered self* into small pieces, more or less the size of ground chuck. The pieces, still frozen, will then be freeze-dried and used as compost for a memorial tree or shrub, either in a churchyard memorial park or in the family's yard.

He recovers and seems to possess all his earlier faculties, with one exception: the formerly mild-mannered Gage is now something of a hellion, an impulsive shit-starter.