Quotes About Transformation

So I needed to be womanised. I was losing my sheen.

Years later, when they were killed in a car crash on the Farm to Market Road, and the Nell-that-never-lived died with them, Olena, numbly rearranging the letters of her own name on the envelopes of the sympathy cards she received, discovered what the letters spelled: Olena; Alone.

You will forget whoever it was that said never trust a thought doesn't come while walking. But clutch at it. Apartments can shrink inward like drying ponds.

She looked pink and beseeching, though essentially she looked the same, as people do despite the fact they have begun to turn into monsters and are about to tell you something that should require horns or fangs or vaulted eyebrows but never apparently does.

He became, in that instant, pure topography: his belly a highland, tapering down to a head-hamlet, with two hard-blinking eye-ponds. Four servants rushed to his aid. He waved them off with a smile. Made

I look back on the poor benighted creature I was before I met her, and I see a dead man. Marching in all the right directions, answering when spoken to, fulfilling all his appointed rounds, but dead all the same. And now this woman has awakened me, and I am alive at last, and at what cost! What pain it is to be among the living!

If I had lived my life in the consciousness of this death, everything would have been different.

Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two. But sometimes the petals fall away and the roots have not entwined.

Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.

He was like one of those saprophytic orchids that can create harmony and wonder even as it grows and blossoms on a pile of shit, in a place of skulls and bones. He let his rifle rust, and even los it once or twice, but he won battles armes with nothing but a mandolin. (195-196)

Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away

The silver fish flashed in the sun like new knives, transforming their asphyxiation into a display of beauty as they flicked and leapt against each other and died.

You can't make an omelette without breaking eggs,' quoted Kokolios, looking at Stamatis significantly. 'I don't like your omelette,' said Stamatis. 'It's made with bad eggs, it tastes foul, and it makes me shit.' (62)

A ship does not sail with yesterday's wind.

It is not enough to do, one must also become. I wish to be wiser, stronger, better. This-- I held out my hands --this thing that is me is incomplete. It is only the raw material with which I have to work. I want to make it better than I received it.

The desert preserves. What other lands destroy, the desert keeps. It accepts dead things, holds them close, and draws away the rot that would destroy; given time, it mummifies or crystalizes.

What we did not possess we had to make for ourselves or learn to do without, but the little I learned helped me to build a defense against the change that time would surely bring, to teach me that to live was to change, and that change was the one irrevocable law. Nothing remained the same.

Many a small man is considered good while he remains small, but let power come to him, and he becomes a raging fury.

The old towns, the ghost towns, no longer belong to men. The desert and the mountains have taken them back, gathered them into their arms and made them one with the trees and brush and rocks.

altered brands.

When there are no new ideas things can remain the same

On the contrary: she thought that the conditions that had made Hitler possible were still present, and that the West needed to be reborn. The European tradition had destroyed itself. "The whole of nearly three thousand years of Western civilization with all its implied beliefs, traditions, and standards of judgment has come toppling down over our heads," she wrote.47

He could hardly lift his spoon during breakfast, and then he was out on the lake, his spoon soon replaced by a shovel.

Someday, the Cloud of Doom will be gone, and the world will be a much better place, even better than before the Cloud. Colors will be more colorful. Music will be more musical. Even Miss Mush's food will taste good. The bigger the storm, the brighter the rainbow.