A Chinaman of the T'ang Dynasty-and, by which definition, a philosopher-dreamed he was a butterfly, and from that moment he was never quite sure that he was not a butterfly dreaming it was a Chinese philosopher. Envy him; in his two-fold security.
I felt a strange fluttering sensation in my chest. Butterflies, cardiac arrest . . . it was hard to say what exactly.
If that moment had been a real thing, it would've been a butterfly, flapping and fluttering toward the sun.
While he writes, I feel as if he is drawing me; or not drawing me, drawing on me - drawing on my skin - not with the pencil he is using, but with an old-fashioned goose pen, and not with the quill end but with the feather end. As if hundreds of butterflies have settled all over my face, and are softly opening and closing their wings.
My English teacher has no face. She has uncombed stringy hair that droops on her shoulders. The hair is black from her part to her ears and then neon orange to the frizzy ends. I can't decide if she had pissed off her hairdresser or is morphing into a monarch butterfly. I call her Hairwoman.
Snapshots, moments, mere seconds: as fragile and beautiful and hopeless as a single butterfly, flapping on against a gathering wind.
She loved him because he had brought her back to life. She had been like a caterpillar in a cocoon, and he had drawn her out and shown her that she was a butterfly.
A day, a livelong day, is not one thing but many. It changes not only in growing light toward zenith and decline again, but in texture and mood, in tone and meaning, warped by a thousand factors of season, of heat or cold, of still or multi winds, torqued by odors, tastes, and the fabrics of ice or grass, of bud or leaf or black-drawn naked limbs. And as a day changes so do its subjects, bugs and birds, cates, dogs, butterflies and people.
If the butterfly wings its way to the sweet light that attracts it, it's only because it doesn't know that the fire can consume it.
When first I saw Isidore, I believed he would help me to enjoy it I believed he would be content with my being a pretty girl; and that we should meet and part and flutter about like two butterflies, and be happy
Time can play all sorts of tricks on you. In the blink of an eye, babies appear in carriages, coffins disappear into the ground, wars are won and lost, and children transform, like butterflies, into adults.
Well, I must endure the presence of a few caterpillars if I wish to become acquainted with the butterflies.
Mom had just gotten back from Sydney, and she had brought me an immense, surpassingly blue butterfly, Papilio ulysses, mounted in a frame filled with cotton. I would hold it close to my face, so close I couldn't see anything but that blue. It would fill me with a feeling, a feeling I later tried to duplicate with alcohol and finally found again with Clare, a feeling of unity, oblivion, mindlessness in the best sense of the word.
I don't think it's going to make a huge difference, ... Sometimes when you stand up on the post, you've got to be careful. Once you're down in a good butterfly, it really doesn't change much.
I am ashamed of the race of beings to which I belong. It is so cruel and bigoted, so hypocritical, so soulless and insane. I would rather be an insect ... a bee or a butterfly ... and float in dim dreams among the wild-flowers of summer than be a man and feel the horrible and ghastly wrongs and sufferings of this wretched world.
Did Chouang dream he was a butterfly?
Some people are settling down, some people are settling and some people refuse to settle for anything less than butterflies.
Once Chuang Chou dreamt he was a butterfly, a butterfly flitting and fluttering around, happy with himself and doing as he pleased. He didnt know he was Chuang Chou. Suddenly he woke up and there he was, solid and unmistakable Chuang Chou. But he didn't know if he was Chuang Chou who had dreamt he was a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming he was Chuang Chou.
My drive went left of the fairway and I had a bad lie. I tried to play for the front left of the green but the ball came out like a butterfly with sore feet.
Shortly before she died, Alex spoke to us about butterflies, and we released them at her funeral as a beautiful tribute to her life. Since then, the butterfly has come to symbolize Alex, her life and her work. The Alexandra Scott Butterfly Award will serve as an enduring tribute to her memory, and we congratulate Grace as this year's winner.
Everyone is like a butterfly, they start out ugly and awkward and then morph into beautiful graceful butterflies that everyone loves.
Probably our best swim was the medley team re-qualifying. Vanessa has jumped in there in the butterfly for us, and it has gone well.
The toad beneath the harrow knows Exactly where each tooth-point goes The butterfly upon the road Preaches contentment to that toad.
Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.
His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterfly's wings. At one time he understood it no more than the butterfly did and he did not know when it was brushed or marred.
The world of biology is full of miracles, but nothing I have seen is as miraculous as the metamorphosis of the monarch caterpillar. Her brain is a speck of neural tissue a few millimeters long, about a million times smaller than a human brain. With this almost microscopic clump of nerve cells she knows how to manage her new legs and wings, to walk and to fly, to find her way by some unknown means of navigation over thousands of miles from Massachusetts to Mexico. How are her behavior patterns programmed first into the genes of the caterpillar and then translated into the neural pathways of the butterfly These are mysteries that biologists are far from understanding. The monarch is living proof that nature's imagination is richer than our own.
But who am I,
To tell the pretty secret
Of the Butterfly!
It was a great thrill, and the reason I wanted to play in the game, having it here, in my hometown. The other guys got the butterflies out (he started the game on the bench), and it gave us a chance just to come in, slow down the tempo, take better shots, and that helped us get back into the game.
I'm not as nervous as I was. The first time you do anything, you get butterflies. Your body feels, I don't know, kind of strange.
It's so bizarre, I'm not scared of snakes or spiders. But I'm scared of butterflies. There is something eerie about them. Something weird!