Quotes About Transformation

The suffering of his fellow Germans was not something to waste time sympathizing with, but rather to transform, cold-bloodedly and immediately, into political support for his own ambitions.

I differ with myself then agree, like the rock that was broken and cemented together. I change my opinion.

She was Remade she was (Remade scum), he knew it, he saw it, and still he felt incessantly what was inside him, and he felt a great scab of habit and prejudice split from him, part from his skin where his homeland had inscribed him deep. [...]There was a caustic pain as he peeled off a clot of old life and exposed himself open and unsure to her, to new air. [...] His feelings welled out and bled together (their festering ceased) and they began to resolve, to heal in a new form, to scar.

Now the Ariekei were learning to speak, and to think, and it hurt.

As he got older, Billy suspected, he would, Dicaprio-like, simply become like an increasingly wizened child.

Death isn't what it used to be

They looked like people-shaped clay in the moments before God breathed out.

The poets and artists and philosophers, resistance activists, secret scouts and troublemakers, had become, as they must, soldiers. Now

I don't want to be a simile anymore," I said. "I want to be a metaphor.

Guv," she said to Baron. "What do you know about how to …" She opened and clenched her hands. "How to make big shit go into something little?

Through streets Cutter had once known now made strange by mortars, with neglected bunting in the colours of factions, with signs proclaiming idiot theories or new churches, new things, new ways of being, split and peeling. The raucousness and vigour were gone from the streets but still sensible in echo, in the buildings themselves: palimpsests of history, epochs, wars, other revolts embedded in their stones.

What d'you know about making big shit little?

Houses built on bridges are scandals. A bridge wants to not be. If it could choose its shape, a bridge would be no shape

utterly human moan started from him, and it grew and grew until it became a bird

He befouled where he was with where he had been.

staggering out of Language, into language

The branches dropped shaggy creepers that, when they reached the earth, hardened into roots and pried apart paving.

Everything has changed. I cannot be used anymore. Those days are over. I know too much. What I do now, I do for me.

I don't want to be a simile anymore,' I said. "I want to be a metaphor.

Habits are cobwebs at first; cables at last.

Enough shovels of earth ..........................a mountain. Enough pails of water ...............................a river.

Rotten wood cannot be carved

Fainting with heat, he suddenly found himself in the cold, cold river. He had turned into a fish. Tail, body, fins - everything was fishlike, except the head, which was his own and still ached. He swam through the muted, cool, underwater darkness and thought that now he would remain a fish forever and never go back to the moutains. "I won't return," he said to himself. "It's better to be a fish, it's better to be a fish...

YOGA becomes the destroyer of pain for