Quotes About Transformation

Once you taste a little of the sweetness that life can be, there really is no going back.

I naively thought that all I had to do to pull this off was toss my fat history out like trash. I couldn't make the deal fast enough.

Those who wish to enter this path must accept that they can never explain either to themselves or to others the mysterious inner unfolding that is taking them home.

It is said that what you think, you become. If we continually think of Allâh we become one with Allâh.

Your journey is towards your homeland. Remember you are travelling from the world of appearances to the world of Reality. – Abdul Khaliq Ghujduwani

Child, child, do you not see? For each of us comes a time when we must be more than what we are.

Books can truly change our lives: the lives of those who read them, the lives of those who write them. Readers and writers alike discover things they never knew about the world and about themselves.

Life's a forge! Yes, and hammer and anvil, too! You'll be roasted, smelted, and pounded, and you'll scarce know what's happening to you. But stand boldly to it! Metal's worthless till it's shaped and tempered! More labor than luck. Face the pounding, don't fear the proving; and you'll stand well against any hammer and anvil.

I suppose it is possible to be all of these things. To sort of fall out of who you are into another, as well as to journey back to some essential sense of self. We only see what we see. He was whatever he needed to be, what we asked him to be. Perhaps there are lives like that—they pour into whatever space we have made ready for them to fill.

you cannot pretend to read a book. Your eyes will give you away. So will your breathing. A person entranced by a book simply forgets to breathe. The house can catch alight a reader deep in a book will not look up until the wallpaper is in flames. For me. Matilda, Great Expectations is such a book. It gave me permission to change my life.

But you know, Matilda, you cannot pretend to read a book. Your eyes will give you away. So will your breathing. A person entranced by a book simply forgets to breathe. The house can catch alight and a reader deep in a book will not look up until the wallpaper is in flames. For me, Matilda, Great Expectations is such a book. It gave me permission to change my life.

As I enter on the path of happiness, I scatter the dregs and shreds and clippings of the past behind me. I divest myself of all the crapulous years.

I felt I had stepped into something big and splendid, as if I had been a caterpillar walking into the heart of a red rose. I felt prim and small and petty. Until then I had never known what love meant.

He wept, and it felt as if the tears were cleansing him, as if his body needed to empty itself.

The demands of motherhood especially consume the old self, and replace it with something new, often better and wiser, sometimes wearier or disillusioned, or tense and terrified, certainly more self-knowing, but never the same again.

Be careful who you pretend to be. You might become it.

I eat too much. I drink to much. A greedy selfish such-n-such. But when I wrap my turban on my mind is clear, I'm 'Baba Lon'.

In essence, there are not really twenty-two trumps, there is only one—the Fool. Al the other trumps live inside (and issue from) the Fool.

Even though it is not pictured in the Death card, our snake-wrapped Orphic egg—the latent seed of life that we first saw in the Magus card, whose elements were married in the Lovers, and which then was fertilized by the Hermit—is now entering the last stage of development before hatching into new life.

A personal philosophical experience of moving out of a world of sense and arriving, dazed and disoriented for a while, into a universe of being.

The fulfilment that is being in love with God is not the product of our knowledge and choice. It is God's gift. Like all being in love, as distinct from particular acts of loving, it is a first principle. So far from resulting from our knowledge and choice, it dismantles and abolishes the horizon within which our knowing and choosing went on, and it sets up a new horizon within which the love of God transvalues our values and the eyes of that love transform our knowing.

Out of the bosom of the Air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent, and soft, and slow Descends the snow.

Love makes its record in deeper colors as we grow out of childhood into manhood; as the Emperors signed their names in green ink when under age, but when of age, in purple.

Some sorrows are but footprints in the snow, which the genial sun effaces, or, if it does not wholly efface, changes into dimples.