Ending Quotes

The moral of this story is that no matter how much we try, no matter how much we want it ... some stories just don't have a happy ending.

We're still on the run. That's for sure.Right on. This time we're on.And we won't stop till we win.

Carefully bracing himself so that he wouldn't hurt her, he leaned over and brushed his lips against hers.He raised his head. Her haunted sapphire eyes stared at him."Daemon?" There was so much uncertainty in her voice."Hello, sweetheart," he said, his voice husky with the effort not to cry. "I've missed you."Her hand moved slowly, with effort, until it rested against his face. Her lips curved into a smile. "Daemon."This time, when she said his name, it sounded like a promise, like a lovely caress.

I don't expect congratulations for successful beginning, what I want is the applaud at successful ending.

A moment’s beginning ends in a moment

The priceless lesson in the New Year is that endings birth beginnings and beginnings birth endings. And in this elegantly choreographed dance of life, neither ever find an end in the other.

I'm still looking for someoneWho said they were here for me,And I thought I was once there for you.But when troubles are nearer than friends,And the road comes to an end,What could I do?I wish I could fly away like you.

If a road ends, that creates a great opportunity to develop new abilities to continue! Welcome every challenge in your life!

It's a good story,' he said. He even grinned at me. 'I'll tell you.''Please,' I said.And then he did.

I believe in (the American) people. I believe that people are more good than bad. I believe tragic things happen. I think there's evil in the world. But I think that at the end of the day, if we work hard, and if we're true to those things in us that feel true and feel right, that, the world gets a little better each time. That's what this presidency is trying to be about. And I see that in the young people i work with. This is not just drama-obama. This is what I really believe.

The hard part wasn’t breaking up. The hard part is forcing myself to fall out of love with you.

Art, and sadness, which last forever.

Seventeen moons, seventeen years,Eyes where Dark or Light appears,Gold for yes and green for no, Seventeen the last to know.

A good poem has rhyming but no ending, it continues to rhyme in our heart.

Sometimes what seems to be the ending of something is really the beginning of Everything.

We hide our demons so good, that the angels we show, bare the shame on their faces.

To blithely discard the spent kernels of something that has ended is to discard the very resources that have painstakingly been harvested from that ending from which a spirited new beginning will be cultivated.

Nothing truly dies. All energy simply transforms.

I fear that there will be no neat ending to this, in the manner of the old Greek plays. Where the Gods descend, and all is explained, and tidied away.

She said that everything that disappeared from our side went over to theirs, where they kept living normal lives, waiting for the things still lingering with us to join them, and make the world whole once more.

I am no king, and I am no lord,And I am no soldier at-arms," said he."I'm none but a harper, and a very poor harper,That am come hither to wed with ye.""If you were a lord, you should be my lord,And the same if you were a thief," said she."And if you are a harper, you shall be my harper,For it makes no matter to me, to me,For it makes no matter to me.""But what if it prove that I am no harper?That I lied for your love most monstrously?""Why, then I'll teach you to play and sing,For I dearly love a good harp," said she.

We must make tough decisions to see if it’s worth it in the end.

The biggest life change any man would ever experience was the ending of it.

I hope when this is done I'll be able to get back into my happy gardening vibe that was so healthy for me. I want to go back to my routine and my morning ritual with the compost, but it will probably be that my life will split in two. New Leaf Gardening in Wood Green will be happening in parallel to a fantasy that runs along the bottom of that screen like a ticker. Alice will be fine. Rabbit will stay up tonight, and every night. Resending and resending, reopening the page to see if she has responded, if anyone has. The spinning wheel will make my eyes hurt and everything else will go dark.

There's never a beginning for eternity.

«And in the end» said the witch to the drowning prince «You've been the one choosing the thornless path in spite of knowing where it could lead. The one who afraid of the pricking roses, plunged himself into an abyss without petals

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…

When someone puts an end to something, it doesn't mean that he gave up, it means that thing is not taking him anywhere.

I've decided I don't like books that end with 'The End'. The fact that there are no more pages, suggests to me that the book has ended.

If you want a happy ending, it just depends on where you close the book!

Since the world is ending,” Peter quoted from behind us, “why not let the children touch the paintings?

We almost bumped into each other. But your eyes were down so you didn't know it was me. And together we said it. "I'm sorry."Then you looked up. You saw me. And there, in your eyes, what was it? Sadness? Pain? You moved around and tried pushing your hair away from your face. Your fingernails were painted dark blue. I watched you walk down the long stretch of hallway. I stood there and watched you disappear. Forever.

The machines of this place are failing, and the woman and I are here all alone. The perpetual motion engine, as brilliant and beautiful as it is, is running down—nothing lasts forever. But before this little world falls out of the sky there still might be time enough for redemption. There is still time for me to say the words that I should have had the courage to say at the beginning.There is still time, perhaps, for one more miracle.Hello, Miranda.

Timaset didn’t need a ship – especially not a flying museum piece! And as far as he knew, a dodgy plasma injector could drop you smack into a wormhole ending somewhere on the other side of the universe with no way back. Well, he could always sell the damn thing. Couldn’t he? He could use the money. Damn, he could always use the money! Maybe the crew would want to buy it over from him?

Remember no matter how fast you run, you can't be the winner if you don't finish. As someone said, to be the first to finish, you must finish first! Go, take the strike!

Just that maybe … maybe you don’t want to change the story, because you don’t know what a different ending holds.

He who is certain he knows the ending of things when he is only beginning them is either extremely wise or extremely foolish; no matter which is true, he is certainly an unhappy man, for he has put a knife in the heart of wonder.

If I am brave enough to stand against those who have been groomed by fear, I will recognize that where I get knocked down is all about where life begins, and has nothing to do with where it ends.

Too often our lives are soiled to desperation by endings that in reality are magnificently outnumbered by beginnings. And unless we become convinced that an ending is always the birthplace of a beginning that is on its way, we will live terribly soiled lives.

Beautiful beginnings are often born from ugly endings.

Carol raised her hand slowly and brushed her hair back, once on either side, and Therese smiled because the gesture was Carol, and it was Carol she loved and would always love. Oh, in a different way now because she was a different person, and it was like meeting Carol all over again, but it was still Carol and no one else. It would be Carol, in a thousand cities, a thousand houses, in foreign lands where they would go together, in heaven and in hell. Therese waited. Then as she was about to go to her, Carol saw her, seemed to stare at her incredulously a moment while Therese watched the slow smile growing, before her arm lifted suddenly, her hand waved a quick, eager greeting that Therese had never seen before. Therese walked toward her.

The two of us in that room. No past, no future. All intense deep that-time-only. A feeling that everything must end, the music, ourselves, the moon, everything. That if you get to the heart of things you find sadness for ever and ever, everywhere; but a beautiful silver sadness, like a Christ face.

This haze of blood must subside, the palace must collapse under the weight of the riches it conceals, the orgy must finish and the time come to awaken.

Endings are abstruse, mystic and unreal. They are but depleted beginnings purposed to be substituted with newer ones.A transition of outlook and time, similar to our differing moods before and after slumber. Before the act we witness an exhaustion, a sulkiness but on gaining consciousness, we’re rejuvenated and good humored. The wakefulness is the new beginning whereas the tension the disturbance we perceive each night is the weariness of the beginnings, of each day. So there never really is an end, all that there are are beginnings.Beginnings which are promising, which offer hope, which have a new leash on life, which neither denounce nor belittle rather soothe and console by reconstructing the broken pieces of yesterday, mending them and reinforcing them with courage and beauty like never before.

I have an impulse to write all over the orange walls- I need an alphabet of endings ripped out of books, of hands pulled off of clocks, of cold stones, of shoes filled with nothing but wind.

You turned the page, i burned the book.

Although I’ve been thoroughly conditioned by pain to see it otherwise, an ending is nothing more than the backside of a beginning.

And with a massive roar the fifth wall comes down and the house of fiction falls, taking Viola and Sunny and Bertie with it. They melt into thin air and disappear. Pouf!

When did the world begin and how?"I asked a lamb, a goat, a cow:"What's it all about and why?"I asked a hog as he went by:"Where will the whole thing end, and when?"I asked a duck, a goose, a hen:And I copied all the answers too,A quack, a honk, an oink, a moo.

As long as you’re breathing, your story’s still going.

Most journeys have a clear beginning, but on some the ending is less well-defined. The question is, at what point do you bite your lip and head for home?

It was a hurting tune, resigned, a cry of heartache for all in the world that fell apart. As ash rose black against the brilliant sky, Fire's fiddle cried out for the dead, and for the living who stay behind to say goodbye.

End is the end of your thinking and reasoning. End is not the end of endings.

they say that girls are the ones who want fairy tail endings, but then again, who are the authors of fairy tales? mostly men...

Plot twist: everything goes exactly as planned.

Everything turns in circles and spirals with the cosmic heart until infinity. Everything has a vibration that spirals inward or outward — and everything turns together in the same direction at the same time. This vibration keeps going: it becomes born and expands or closes and destructs — only to repeat the cycle again in opposite current. Like a lotus, it opens or closes, dies and is born again. Such is also the story of the sun and moon, of me and you. Nothing truly dies. All energy simply transforms.

A picture of the world, nothing more than a casting stone set in the heavens, intruded on Errol's dismay. World without end. Was Illustra, their entire world, nothing more than a lot for the ultimate reader, too small and insignificant a thing to care about?

Obsession and possession are just sessions destined to end soon.

But one day, when Toby is old enough, I will take down a shoe box from a shelf where it is kept, and I will tell him again the story of his sister, Isabel Margaret Cavendish, the girl who came before.

When you begin, you envision a better end but, when you get to the end, you see the beginning better!