Bottom line is, even if you see 'em coming, you're not ready for the big moments. No one asks for their life to change, not really. But it does. So what are we, helpless? Puppets? No. The big moments are gonna come. You can't help that. It's what you do afterwards that counts. That's when you find out who you are.
For he did not, he would have said, care for women; he never felt at home or at ease with them; and that monstrous creature beginning to be talked about, the New Woman of the nineties, filled him with horror. He was a quiet, conventional person, and the world, viewed from the haven of Brookfield, seemed to him full of distasteful innovations; there was a fellow named Bernard Shaw who had the strangest and most reprehensible opinions; there was Ibsen, too, with his disturbing plays; and there was this new craze for bicycles which was being taken up by women equally with men. Chips did not hold with all this modern newness and freedom. He had a vague notion, if he ever formulated it, that nice women were weak, timid, and delicate, and that nice men treated them with a polite but rather distant chivalry.
I have walked through many lives,some of them my own,and I am not who I was,though some principle of being abides,from which I struggle not to stray.When I look behind,as I am compelled to look before I can gather strength to proceed on my journey,I see the milestones dwindling toward the horizon and the slow fires trailing from the abandoned camp-sites, over which the scavenger angels wheel on heavy wings.Oh, I have made myself a tribe out of my true affections,and my tribe is scattered!How shall the heart be reconciled to its feast of losses?In a rising wind,the manic dust of my friends,those who fell along the way,bitterly stings my face.Yet I turn.I turn,exulting somewhat,with my will intact to go wherever I need to go,and every stone on the road precious to me.In my darkest night,when the moon was covered and I roamed through the wreckage,a nimbus-clouded voice directed me:-Live in the layers, not on the litter-Though I lack the art to decipher it,no doubt the next chapter in my book of transformations is already written.I am not done with my changes.
One song becomes emotionOne thought can wake the dreamOne tree can start a forestOne man can save the teamOne smile begins a friendshipOne look can stir a soulOne bird can herald springOne word can frame the goalOne drop can tip the balanceOne hand can pull us throughOne change can make a differenceThat change can come from you
It is the same in life; the heart changes, and that is our worst misfortune; but we learn of it only from reading or by imagination; for in reality its alteration, like that of certain natural phenomena, is so gradual that, even if we are able to distinguish, successively, each of its different states, we are still spared the actual sensation of change.Lygiai taip gyvenime kei?iasi ir m?s? širdis, ir tai skaudžiausia; ta?iau patiriame t? skausm? tik skaitydami knygas, vaizduot?je; tikrov?je jos keitimasis, kaip ir kai kuri? gamtos reiškini? vyksmas yra toks l?tas, kad nors ir galime konstatuoti kiekvien? atskir? b?sen?, paties keitimosi pajusti nepaj?giame.