Quotes About Transformation

Something tells me this isn't going to end well for everyone involved. Someone may get turned into a frog yet." And that was the good news.

For years she'd been the Central Gates Precinct's Witness Retrieval Specialist – more commonly referred to as a "Ghost Yanker" by her non-magical colleagues on the force. Being stuck in the basement talking to dead victims would depress the hell out of anyone, if they did it for long enough. Then, six months ago, everything changed.

My brother, are you aware that you are presently taking the form of a rather large and distinctly emerald-hued bear? Not that it isn't an improvement on your usual excessive good lucks, but...

Just like the butterfly, I too will awaken in my own time.

I was looking out at cliffs and the sea, all sluiced in delicate pinks and yellows and greens and blues, as if the sun were imparting to the sleeping rock and water dreams of their youth, dreams of the rock's birth in the earth's molten core, the water's ecstatic purity before it was sullied by life—as if the play of soft colors were the sun's lullaby to the cliffs and the sea, of endurance and transformation.

Sure she wanted him to be someone else, or at least sort of someone else. Pretty much everyone wants everyone else to be at least sort of someone else, don't they?

but there will be other things, new things. That's how it is with change. You leave one thing behind, and there's something else to take it's place.

But there will be other things, new things. That's how it is with change. You leave one thing behind, and there's something else to take its place.

The town stood witness to her fall As she crashed to the earth Exposed and utterly vulnerable Her secret lives, lies and truths Stained her skin and lay in mounds at her feet Her foes sat in judgment as a jury, But love came . . . with gentle hands Love dried her tears Love covered her shame Love sheltered her with compassion Love accepted her anyway Love embraced her Love welcomed her home.

Who a person becomes later in life, how he lives, how he dies, cloud's people's memories of him, spinning and skewing-distorting-their portraits of him as a child. But we will draw Vincent as clearly as we can using not only impressions but also strong lines, sharp details. A picture will emerge.

You'd have to look hard to find Oliver's name in a history book. But in that small mining camp in Fayette County, West Virginia, Oliver did something important: he changed on life, and that life changed many.

I love Black Beauty, but it's just a story, of course. What matters is. . . I don't know. . . what you do once the story is inside you.

spin a cocoon around herself.

I have been waiting on her all my life. I was the waitress. Waiting on her and waiting for her. What was I waiting for? Waiting for her to step into her self or step out of her invalid self. Waiting for her to take the voyage out of her gloom, to buy a ticket to a vital life.

This was the rearranged space of yesterday.

I wanted my whole life so far to slip away with the rolling waves, to begin a different kind of life. But I didn't know what that meant or how to get to it

Ideas come to us as the successors to griefs, and griefs, at the moment when they change into ideas, lose some part of their power to injure the heart.

Now that we were mothers we were all shadows of our former selves, chased by the women we used to be before we had children.

The face beneath the mask has to grow seamlessly into the mask.

Time has shattered, it's cracking like my lips.

I realized my mother had charm and verve. If I blew on her name, ROSE, the letters would shuffle around and come out as EROS, the god of love, winged but lame.

That was the old composition and I had walked out of that world. I had literally walked off the stage.

She is color, waiting to be mixed; a painting, ready to be brushed into life. She is a moment, waiting to be fixed forever under a shiny varnish.

It was almost as if she was still the bewildred girl of fourteen who wasn't ready to be an adult.