Best 170 quotes in «endings quotes» category

Hesse's Stage came to Perdu's mind. Most people were familiar with the first line, of course: "In all beginnings dwells a magic force..." but very few people know the ending: "For guarding us and helping us to live." And hardly anyone realized that Hesse wasn't talking about new beginnings. He meant a readiness to bid farewell. Farewell to old habits, Farwell to illusions. Farewell to a long-expired life, in which one was nothing but a husk, rustled by the occasional sigh.

I am almost a hundred years old; waiting for the end, and thinking about the beginning. There are things I need to tell you, but would you listen if I told you how quickly time passes? I know you are unable to imagine this. Nevertheless, I can tell you that you will awake someday to find that your life has rushed by at a speed at once impossible and cruel. The most intense moments will seem to have occurred only yesterday and nothing will have erased the pain and pleasure, the impossible intensity of love and its dog-leaping happiness, the bleak blackness of passions unrequited, or unexpressed, or unresolved.

I am crying so hard at the end, partly for the characters, yes, but also because Nikki actually teaches this book to children. I cannot imagine why anyone would want to expose impressionable teenagers to such a horrible ending. Why not just tell high school students that their struggle to improve themselves is all for nothing?

If you look for endings you can always find one, but I truly felt as if I had used up the last of my youth, if youth is that finite stage of life when it all feels expeditionary, inexact.

I felt clean, all the bone-beaked loneliness birds banished, their rocky nests turned to river stones. Cool, clear water bubbled over them, streams in the desert.

If I were writing a novel I would end it here: a novel, I used to think, has to end somewhere, but I'm beginning to believe my realism has been at fault all these years, for nothing in life now ever seems to end. Chemists tell you matter is never completely destroyed, and mathematicians tell you that if you halve each pace in crossing a room, you will never reach the opposite wall, so what an optimist I would be if I thought that this story ended here.

I ask you again / You who watch / How can there ever be any ending but this? First silence / Then darkness.

If novelists truly wanted to simulate the delta of lfe's possibilities, this is what they'd do. At the back of the book would be a set of sealed envelopes in various colours. Each would be clearly marked on the outside: Traditional Happy Ending; Traditional Unhappy Ending; Traditional Half-and-Half Ending; Deus ex Machina; Modernist Arbitrary Ending; End of the World Ending; Cliffhanger Ending; Dream Ending; Opaque Ending; Surrealist Ending; and so on. You would be allowed only one, and would have to destroy the envelopes you didn't select.

If this turns to friendship, it only means That one of us will suffer. That when we meet after the worst of endings, There will only be this skein of words between us— Most of them for boredom, fewer for loneliness— Rising out of our mutual space of breath, leaving Behind a bluer sky each moment of departure. And one of us will cling on to its blue, Hung on partings like a muted cloud, while The other rides on a wing of word away from here.

I'm against endings. I'm against things being over. Being finished should be stopped! I am Comrade-in-Chief of going on. I support furthermore and etcetera!

I guess I just don't get the point. It's like, why should you bother getting attached to anything if, A: It's never gonna last, and B: It hurts like hell when it's over?

I have a story to tell you. It has many beginnings, and perhaps one ending. Perhaps not. Beginnings and endings are contingent things anyway; inventions, devices. Where does any story really begin? There is always context, always an encompassingly greater epic, always something before the described events, unless we are to start every story with “BANG! Expand! Sssss…,” then itemize the whole subsequent history of the universe before settling down, at last, to the particular tale in question. Similarly, no ending is final, unless it is the end of all things…

L'Avventura,' Dad said, 'has the sort of ellipsis ending most American audiences would rather undergo a root canal than be left with, not only because they loathe anything left to the imagination-we're talking about the country that invented spandex-but also because they are a confident, self-assured nation. They know Family. They know Right from Wrong. They know God-many of them attest to daily chats with the man. And the idea that none of us can truly know anything at all-not the lives of our friends or family, not even ourselves-is a thought they'd rather be shot in the arm with their own semi-automatic rifle than face head-on. Personally, I think there's something terrific about not knowing, relinquishing man's feeble attempt to control. When you throw up your hands, say, "Who knows?" you can get on with the sheer gift of being alive.

I love you too, but my time with you has passed.

I may regret the way we ended, but I will never regret what we had.

I realized death isn't the worst thing. It's the last thing. And endings are hard, that's all.

I’m more happy than not. Don’t forget me.

In life, there are no true beginnings or endings. Events flow into each other, and the more you try to isolate them in a container, the more they spill over the sides, like canal-water breaching its artificial banks. A related point is that the things we label 'beginnings' and 'endings' are often, in reality, indistinguishable. They are one and the same thing. This is one of the things the Death card symbolizes in tarot - an end that is also a new beginning.

In them and between them flourished the heat of life, the madness of love, and the sudden absolute certainty of the end of all that they knew.

I read the last paragraph of my favorite book. I remind myself that some things I love end. And that’s okay. Ari Eastman

It was an ending. I don't think I realized it at the time, and now wonder if anyone truly does recognize the event that starts an ending. Or is it when we look backwards, that we are finally able to understand." Eagle's Destiny ~ Chapter 1

I searched among her crayons for a color that represented autumn and pulled out an orange-toned crayon, never used. It read “Bittersweet,” and I wondered why that particular name. Autumn was my favorite time of year… I was always ready for the change. I guess some people didn’t see it that way. Some people wanted to cling to summer... I loved both seasons, but I thought no one would ever call spring bittersweet, even though it was just another change, another new cycle, an end to one season and a beginning for another in an endless, never-ending spiral.

I still have a last-day-of-sixth-grade feeling. All year you’re excited for school to end so you can move on to junior high, but then the day comes and you realize that something that was an important part of your life is dying. And endings are still so new that you don’t know quite how to feel. You find an excuse not to run out the door when the bell rings and school’s out. You talk to your teacher one last time. You use the restroom one last time. You take a circuitous route back to your classroom. On your way out, you look back and sigh, and you experience this deep wishfulness, and you wonder if life is just a series of endings. New beginnings don’t make endings any easier.

I still smell your absence on my skin. It smells of insomnia and rusted key locks...

It doesn't matter if you never see someone again, I told myself. There are millions of people in the world, and most of them never see each other in the first place. You hoped to know Ellington Feint forever, but there's no such thing as forever, really. Everything is much shorter than that.

It's a lot easier to say when something ended rather than when it began. Most of us can recognize the end from a mile away, but the beginning always slips up on us, lulling us into thinking what we're living through is yet another moment, in yet another day.

It's an erase all your playlists kinda day

It all begins and ends in your mind. What you give power to has power over you.

It ended sadly. The kind of ending where you wait together, holding hands and weeping, while off in another room, love slowly dies.

It might be high summer all about but inside me everything is fall. The lonesomeness of a sad, slow closing of days, knowing frost is nigh and wind needling through the cabin chinks is just around the bend. That's me, right now.

It’s hard to say where a story begins and ends. You have to draw an arbitrary line somewhere. Somewhere between perception and reality. Between what is spoken and what is heard. Between what is written and what is edited out. I know this, you can’t have an ending without a beginning. Even if they are really just random pieces of the middle that tend to stand out. Staccato notes on the page. Points on a circle.

It's much easier to not know things sometimes. Things change and friends leave. And life doesn't stop for anybody.

It's not the endings that will haunt you But the space where they should lie, The things that simply faded Without one final wave goodbye.

It’s okay how some stories leave off without an ending. Life doesn’t always deliver the one you would expect.

It's possible to find order in chaos, and it's equally possible to find chaos underlying apparent order. Order and chaos are slippery concepts. They're like a set of twins who like to swap clothing from time to time. Order and chaos frequently intermingle and overlap, the same as beginnings and endings. Things are often more complicated, or more simple, than they seem. Often it depends on your angle. I think that telling a story is a way of trying to make life's complexity more comprehensible. It's a way of trying to separate order from chaos, patterns from pandemonium.

Little beginnings sometimes have great endings.

Maybe the ending isn't even really the point. Just as long as there was a happy somewhere along the way.

Losing something happens in a day. An end takes one day. We all seem to focus on that one day, on that ending, rather than on the beautiful story that was created before the end came. We are obsessed with endings, so much so, that we would rather not live at all, than live and then lose. So, we have two choices: to not create our stories because we know that one day they have endings, or, to build our stories and therefore to live, filling the many years with memories and moments! An end takes one day to happen, but life takes place in the moments and in the memories that we choose to feel, to build, to hold. Don't miss out on the years, for the fear of one day.

Ljubav odlazi tiho. Nikad necete cuti njen kraj.

Major Chhetri's pronouncement when we'd first arrived in Nepal came echoing back: "Things that start in the rain end well.

...marriage is a long dull meal with the pudding served first.

Of all the tricks played by storytellers on their willing victims, the cheapest is the deception known in English as The End. An ending is an arbitrary thing, an act of cowardice or fatigue, an expedient disguised as an aesthetic choice or, worse, a moral commentary on the finitude of life.

Neither father nor son moved, but stayed face to face for hours and hours, neither looking away nor surrendering, until the sun finished its daily pilgrimage, for no day is so long that it is not ended by nightfall.

Not so bad this ending because one is getting used to endings: life like Morse, a series of dots and dashes, never forming a paragraph.

Of the two thousand original copies printed of The History of Love, some were bought and read, many were bought and not read, some were given as gifts, some sat fading in bookstore windows serving as landing docks for flies, some were marked up with pencil, and a good many were shredded to pulp along with other unread or unwanted books, their sentences parsed and minced in the machine's spinning blades.

...my novels are like life - I never know where they're going until I get to the end...

Resist change at your own peril, Vivian. When something ends, let it end.

Only in cartoons and fairy tales and greeting cards do endings have glitter

Should teach us that there are no happy endings, so no desilusionariamos us if we did not get our happy ending.

She missed him. And she was scared, deep down, because she felt him pulling away from her, and even though he assured her he wasn't, she didn't believe him.