If you have butterflies in your stomach ask them into your heart.
. . . just because [butterflies'] lives were short didn't mean they were tragic. . . See, they have a beautiful life.
If nothing ever changed, there would be no such things as butterflies.
"Aren't you hungry?" he asked, distracted. "No. " I didn't feel like mentioning that my stomach was already full - of butterflies.
Nature is always lavish of her gifts even to the most insignificant forms. The butterflies and moths are richly dowered in this respect.
It was then that she realized that the yellow butterflies preceded the appearances of Mauricio Babilonia.
Some things, when they change, never do return to the way they once were. Butterflies for instance, and women who've been in love with the wrong man too often.
Let me walk through the fields of paper touching with my wand dry stems and stunted butterflies.
We will all laugh at gilded butterflies.
Poetry is an enumeration of birds, bees, babies, butterflies, bugs, bambinos, babayagas, and bipeds, beating their way up bewildering bastions.
My family didn't go to church. Once when I slept over at the house of a friend, her parents brought me to Sunday school with her. I was given this little pamphlet of tiny poems about the natural world, about butterflies and sunsets. My 7-year-old self was so astounded by how these few words were creating pictures and feelings in me.
What's a butterfly garden without butterflies?
It was a completely new feeling for me–like someone had just released a million, tiny butterflies loose in my stomach, and they were feverishly flying up into my head and making me lose my mind.
Sweet freedom whispered in my ear, you're a butterfly, and butterflies are free to fly, fly away, high-away, bye-bye.
Minimize your therbligs until it becomes automatic; this doubles your effective lifetime - and thereby gives time to enjoy butterflies and kittens and rainbows.
I only ask to be free. The butterflies are free.
place where man laughs, sings, picks flowers, chases butterflies and pets birds, makes love with maidens, and plays with children. Here he spontaneously reveals his nature, the base as well as the noble. Here also he buries his sorrows and difficulties and cherishes his ideals and hopes. It is in the garden that men discover themselves. Indeed one discovers not only his real self but also his ideal self?he returns to his youth. Inevitably the garden is made the scene of man's merriment, escapades, romantic abandonment, spiritual awakening or the perfection of his finer self.
I felt a strange fluttering sensation in my chest. Butterflies, cardiac arrest. . . it was hard to say what exactly.
Some think love can be measured by the amount of butterflies in their tummy. Others think love can be measured in bunches of flowers, or by using the words 'for ever. ' But love can only truly be measured by actions. It can be a small thing, such as peeling an orange for a person you love because you know they don't like doing it.
We kill all the caterpillars, then complain there are no butterflies.