Quotes About Transformation

I seek no copy now of life's first half: Leave here the pages with long musing curled, And write me new my future's epigraph, New angel mine, unhoped for in the world!

Knowledge by suffering entereth,And life is perfected by death.

The face of all the world is changed, I think, Since first I heard the footsteps of they soul Move still, oh, still, beside me...

The face of all the world is changed, I think Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul.

Why, conquering May prove as lordly and complete a thing In lifting upward, as in crushing low! And as a vanquished soldier yields his sword To one who lifts him from the bloody earth, Even so, Belovëd, I at last record, Here ends my strife. If thou invite me forth, I rise above abasement at the word. Make thy love larger to enlarge my worth!

Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink Of obvious death, where I, who thought to sink, Was caught up into love, and taught the whole Of life in a new rhythm.

Just as I was praised was poor Flush criticised. Flush has not recovered from the effects yet of the summer plague of fleas, and his curls, though growing, are not grown. I never saw him in such spirits nor so ugly; and though Robert and I flatter ourselves upon 'the sensible improvement,' Arlette could only see him with reference to the past, when in his Wimpole Street days he was sleek and over fat, and she cried aloud at the loss of his beauty.

Robert has exhumed some French books, just now, from a little circulating library which he had not tried, and we have been making ourselves uncomfortable over Balzac's 'Cousin Pons.' But what a wonderful writer he is! Who else could have taken such a subject, out of the lowest mud of humanity, and glorified and consecrated it?

I only thought Of lying quiet there where I was thrown Like sea-weed on the rocks, and suffer her To prick me to a pattern with her pin, Fibre from fibre, delicate leaf from leaf, And dry out from my drowned anatomy The last sea-salt left in me.

The end of the world was supposed to be gradual. There was supposed to be warning. A long, slow slide. What we got was punctuated equilibrium: a stately wobbling, then a sudden tipping point. There was plenty of warning, I suppose. We just weren't paying attention.

You did not love an angel to be safe, or in the interests of survival, or even because you thought the angel might even love you back. You did not love an angel because you thought you could tame an angel, change it, make it safe. You loved an angel because to love an angel was to touch something larger than yourself, and because the process of that touch enlarged you as well.

In that expression, Dust glimpsed the woman she had not been, the woman whose body she now inhabited.

I imagined myself taller, imagined myself angry, and pulled the subtlest glamour I could around me.

Death was always a relative function, a complicated thing when you were dealing with angels or Exalt. People died in pieces, by increments, or were transformed into something else. For Means, death had meant something concrete, a hard limit.

Strange to have his former apprentice treating with him as an equal now. Strange, and satisfying.

Kusanagi-Jones had only one idea, and it involved doing something he hadn't willingly done in his adult life.

You change in my arms and change again, and all I can do is hold you.

This is the last moment of the world we know, isn't it? This is history.

Keith dreamed of dragons again, and awoke cold in his bed, curled into a ball that would have been his tail tucked tight across his nose and eyes if he had been in wolf's shape.

The sea never changes. And yet, it never stops changing.

Cricket-Fisher-was starting to prefer her new name. Especially the way Nouel said it, with a little twinkle, as if it were a joke shared.

I've got a head so full of dead people I suspect whoever I started off as should be counted as one of them.

In the house of dust, roll yourself in ashes.

How much of you has to die before you stop being you and become somebody else?