Quotes About Transformation

Avevo perduto la sicurezza dell'infanzia; in cambio non avevo guadagnato niente.

Toute expérience de perte produit une brisure mais par la grâce de la littérature cette brisure peut se transformer en lien.

It is quite certain that the surpassing of the past toward the future always demands sacrifices; to claim that in destroying an old quarter in order to build new houses on its ruins one is preserving it dialectically is a play on words; no dialectic can restore the old port of Marseilles; the past as something not surpassed, in its flesh and blood presence, has completely vanished.

D'improvviso, l'avvenire esisteva; mi avrebbe cambiata in un'altra che avrebbe detto io e non sarebbe più stata me.

Yet, there is hardly a sadder virtue than resignation. It transforms into phantoms and contingent reveries projects which had at the beginning been set up as will and freedom.

Împingând la paroxism viaÅ£a auster? care-mi fusese h?r?zit?, am transformat-o în vocaÅ£ie; am convertit privaÅ£iunea de pl?ceri în ascez?; în loc s? m? târ?sc de la o zi la alta, într-o plictisitoare uniformitate, mi-o luasem mie îns?mi înainte, mut?, cu privirea fix?, îndreptându-m? c?tre o Å£int? ascuns?.

In 1949 Beauvoir could see that women would be able to shed their old skins and cut their own clothes, only 'if there is a collective change' (see here).

I realized that I had come here in the hope of once more finding that man so hopelessly in love: I had not seen him for years and years, although this memory lies like a transparency over all the visions I have of him. That evening, for the very reason that the surroundings were the same, the old image, coming into contact with a flesh and blood man smoking a cigarette, fell to dust and ashes, I had a shattering revelation: time goes by. I began to weep.

after Neruda a bronze song, something undone, salvia, a crushed butterfly. It is the blood on a light bulb, the seventh sadness, a fluctuation that closes oceans and eyes. The vermilion and solitary luminary shimmies and singes the feathers of the aviary. Moon, the clock's word, dear mother, ruin, rain. — Simone Muench, "Elegy for the Unsaid," Lampblack & Ash: Poems . (Sarabande Books; First Edition edition November 1, 2005)

Tant que l'homme tolère d'avoir l'âme emplie de ses propres pensées, de ses pensées personnelles, il est entièrement soumis jusqu'au plus intime de ses pensées à la contrainte des besoins et au jeu mécanique de la force. S'il croit qu'il en est autrement, il est dans l'erreur. Mais tout change quand, par la vertu d'une véritable attention, il vide son âme pour y laisser pénétrer les pensées de la sagesse éternelle.

May I disappear in order that those things that I see may become perfect in their beauty from the very fact that they are no longer things that I see.

Such is the power of might. Its power to transform an into a thing double and it cuts both ways; it petrifies differently but equally the souls of those who suffer it, and of those who wield it.

Such is the power of might. Its power to transform man into a thing is double and it cuts both ways; it petrifies differently but equally the souls of those who suffer it, and of those who wield it.

The death agony is the supreme dark night which is necessary even for the perfect if they are to attain to absolute purity, and for that reason it is better that it should be bitter.

May I disappear in order that those things that I see may become perfect in their beauty from the very fact that they are no longer things I see.

Je ne dois pas aimer ma souffrance parce qu'elle est utile, mais parce qu'elle est.

Growth in sanctification will always include a deepening appreciation of the person and work of the Lord Jesus Christ.

Repentance then is not the punctiliar decision of a moment but a radical heart transformation that reverses the whole direction of life.

At the end of the day we cannot divide faith and repentance chronologically. The true Christian believes penitently, and he repents believingly.

Vast is the power of cities to reclaim the wanderer.

Whatever she might become she would never be static.

You will, I trust, resemble a forest plant, which has indeed, by some accident, been brought up in the greenhouse, and thus rendered delicate and effeminate, but which regains its native firmness and tenacity, when exposed for a season to the winter air.

I saw the suffering and I let myself feel it… I saw the injustice and was compelled to do something about it. I changed from being a nun who only prayed for the suffering world to a woman with my sleeves rolled up, living my prayer.

And yet, I also understood the need for this journey. To simply say to myself or anyone else, "I am forgiven" or "I forgive" could not shift my past karmic energy as well as walking the Camino. I was walking myself out of trauma and grief and anger and shame and righteous indignation and feelings of worthlessness and over-thinking and every other faulty human perception that blocked the truth of my being from shining through.