Quotes About Transformation

Le chiedo scusa, professore:non era più un cane, era un uomo. Questo è il punto. Perché poteva parlare? Ma questo non vuol dire essere uomini, almeno non ancora...comunque non importa, Pallino è sempre vivo, a nessuno è mai passato per la testa ammazzarlo.

Ach, messer, niech pan nie sÅ'ucha tej biednej kobiety! W owej suterenie ju? od dawna mieszka ktoÅ› inny, a w ogóle to siÄ™ nie zdarza, ?eby cokolwiek znowu byÅ'o tak, jak ju? byÅ'o.

mnogo je važnije pitanje: jesu li se ti gra?ani promijenili iznutra? ...

Pagherà qualcuno per il sangue? No. Nessuno. Semplicemente la neve si scioglierà, spunterà la verde erba ucraina, coprirà la terra... germineranno le biade rigogliose... tremolerà l'aria torrida sui campi e del sangue non resterà traccia. Costa poco il sangue sui campi vermigli, e nessuno lo riscatterà. Nessuno.

If You Want To Experience Great Positive Change In Your Life, Always Prune Your Good Habits Towards That Change, And Uproot Any Bad Habits That May Be Limiting You.

Many a calm river begins as a turbulent waterfall, yet none hurtles and foams all the way to the sea.

Do what you will, the heart hardens and the soul shrinks in upon itself.

Leidenschaften sind nichts anderes als Ideen in ihrem ersten Entwicklungsstadium: sie gehören zur Jugend des Herzens, und ein Dummkopf ist derjenige, der meint, von ihnen ein Leben lang erregt zu werden: viele ruhige Flüsse beginnen als rauschende Wasserfälle, doch keiner springt und schäumt bis zum Meer.

Kafka] transformed the profoundly antipoetic material of a highly bureaucratized society into the great poetry of the novel; he transformed a very ordinary story of a man who cannot obtain a promised job . . . into myth, into epic, into a kind of beauty never before seen.

Abroad, she discovered that the transformation of music into noise was a planetary process by which mankind was entering the historical phase of total ugliness. The total ugliness to come had made itself felt first as omnipresent acoustical ugliness: cars, motorcycles, electric guitars, drills, loudspeakers, sirens. The omnipresence of visual ugliness would soon follow.

He thought: that's certainly how it starts. One day a person puts his legs up on a bench, then night comes and he falls asleep. That's how it happens that one fine day a person joins the tramps and turns into one of them.

He was down and out, the Catholics took him in, and before he knew it, he had faith. So it was gratitude that decided the issue, most likely. Human decisions are terribly simple.

Human lives are conmposed like music. Guided by his sense of beauty, an individual transforms a fortuitous occurrence into a motif, which then assumes a permanent place in the composition of an individual's life.

when she looked longer at herself in her new dress, it was she but she living a different life, the life she would have lived if she had stayed in Prague.

The novelist destroys the house of his life and uses its stones to build the house of his novel.

Man stopped wanting to walk, to walk on his own feet and enjoy it. What's more he longer saw his own life as a road, but as a highway

The crematory fire is the only way our bodies can escape them. It's the absolute death.

Cada possibilidade nova que tem a existência, até a menos provável, transforma a existência inteira.

The gigantic invisible broom that transforms, disfigures, erases landscapes has been at the job for millennia now, but its movements, which used to be slow, just barely perceptible, have sped up so much that I wonder: Would an Odyssey even be conceivable today? Is the epic of the return still pertinent to our time?

But the larger a man grows in his own inner darkness, the more his outer form diminishes.

What is unbearable in life is not being, but being one's self. To live, there is no happiness there. Living: carrying around the world one's painful self. But being, being is happiness. Being: to transform into a fountain, a stone basin in which the universe descends like a lukewarm rain - Postface by François Ricard, translated from French

Nel vivere non c'è alcuna felicità. Vivere: portare il proprio io dolente per il mondo. Ma essere, Essere è felicità. Essere: trasformarsi in una fontana, in una vasca di pietra, nella quale l'universo cade come una tiepida pioggia.

Çünkü herkes ilgisiz bir evren içinde görülüp iÅŸitilmeden yokolup gideceÄŸi düÅŸüncesiyle ac? çekmektedir. Bu yüzden, daha vakit varken, kendisini sözcüklerden oluÅŸan bir evrene dönüÅŸtürmek ister.

For seven years he had lived bound to her,his every step subject to her scrutiny. She might as well have chained iron balls to his ankles. Suddenly his step was much lighter. He soared. He had entered Parmenides' magic field: he was enjoying the sweet lightness of being''.