Quotes About Transformation

the sun rose and the river ran as before but nothing was the same nor did he think it ever would be.

After a while he said: It's not about knowin where you are. It's about thinkin you got there without takin anything with you. Your notions about startin over. Or anybody's. You dont start over. That's what it's about. Ever step you take is forever. You cant make it go away. None of it. You understand what I'm saying?

The road to infinity may well unravel fresh rules as it goes.

I began to see how the world must become if I were to live in it.

If I think about what I wanted as a kid and what I want now they aint the same thing. I guess what I wanted wasnt what I wanted.

You cant have your ambient reality put askew without becoming somewhat askew yourself.

A big lemoncolored cat watched him from the top of a woodstove. He turned his head to see it better and it elongated itself like hot taffy down the side of the stove and vanished headfirst in the earth without a sound.

That's why love is so inseparable from any talk about truth and death, because we know that love is fundamentally a death of an old self that was isolated and the emergence of a new self now entangled with another self, the self that you fall in love with.

We need serious strategic and tactical thinking about how to create new models of leadership and forge the kind of persons to actualize these models.

The condition of truth is to allow suffering to speak, and the condition of being the truth is to transform your suffering with great creativity and compassion into forms and deeds that empower others to do likewise in their own ways.

Children are caterpillars and adults are butterflies. No butterfly ever remembers what it felt like being a caterpillar.

Since when does the butterfly ask about the caterpillar?

Ist es nicht seltsam, wie viel dicker ein Buch wird, wenn man es mehrmals liest? [...] Als würde jedes Mal etwas zwischen den Seiten kleben bleiben. Gefühle, Gedanken, Geräusche, Gerüche ... Und wenn du dann nach vielen Jahren wieder in dem Buch blätterst, entdeckst du dich selbst darin, etwas jünger, etwas anders, als hätte das Buch dich aufbewahrt, wie eine gepresste Blüte, fremd und vertraut zugleich.

You humans love mirrors. You have to constantly make sure you still have the same face. Nothing scares you more than if someone changes it.

Nulla è eterno, Balbulus. E che cosa c'è di meglio, per le parole, che essere cantate in giro? Sì, certo, ogni volta mutano, hanno una melodia diversa. Ma non è questo il bello?

One day God felt he ought to give his workshop a spring-clean…. It was amazing what ragged bits and pieces came out from under his workbench as he swept. Beginnings of creatures, bits that looked useful but had seemed wrong, ideas that he'd mislaid and forgotten…. There was even a tiny lump of sun. He scratched his head. What could be done with all this rubbish? Ted Hughes, "Leftovers," from The Dreamfighter

I was the Count of Monte Cristo, who would one day return from the terrible prison island to take revenge on all those who had sent him there. I was Napoléon, banished to die a lonely death on Saint Helena. I was Harry, locked up under the Dursleys' staircase.

He still looked so sad. Not a sign of the laughter that once used to be as much a part of his face as his black eyes. The smile he gave her now was only a sad shadow of it.

Una storia cambia continuamente vestito. Una storia cresce e germoglia come un qualcosa di vivo! Quelle che vengono chiuse nei libri, invece? Sì, magari vivono più a lungo, ma prendono vita solo quando i libri vengono aperti. Sono suoni pressati tra i fogli, e solo una voce può dar loro fiato!

Farid callaba. Sus oídos amaban la voz de Lengua de Brujo. Era la voz que lo había sacado de su otra vida mísera, pero amaba más a Dedo Polvoriento, sin saber por qué.

was a special pleasure to see things eaten, to see things blackened and changed… . He wanted … to shove a marshmallow on a stick in the furnace, while the flapping pigeon-winged books died on the porch and lawn of the house. While the books went up in sparkling whirls, and blew away on a wind turned dark with burning. Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

Sie wird eine Füchsin zur Mutter haben und einen Vater, der aus einer anderer Welt stammt und den Namen Reckless zu Recht trägt. All deine Spiegel werden zerspringen und sie wird dein wahres Gesicht kennen.

I am like a goldsmith hammering day and night Just so I can extend pain Into a gold ornament as thin as a cicada's wing Xi Murong

Dir wachsen einfach nur neue Blätter, Caspia, dachte sie, wie dem jungen Löwenzahn und der Kapuzinerkresse.