"butterflies"タグの名言

I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.

He said that we belonged together because he was born with a flower and I was born with a butterfly and that flowers and butterflies need each other for survival.

She liked being reminded of butterflies. She remembered being six or seven and crying over the fates of the butterflies in her yard after learning that they lived for only a few days. Her mother had comforted her and told her not to be sad for the butterflies, that just because their lives were short didn't mean they were tragic. Watching them flying in the warm sun among the daisies in their garden, her mother had said to her, see, they have a beautiful life. Alice liked remembering that.

Life is short. If you doubt me, ask a butterfly. Their average life span is a mere five to fourteen days.

The caterpillar does all the work, but the butterfly gets all the publicity.

Well, I must endure the presence of a few caterpillars if I wish to become acquainted with the butterflies.

I tell of hearts and souls and dances... Butterflies and second chances; Desperate ones and dreamers bound, Seeking life from barren ground, Who suffer on in earthly fate The bitter pain of agony hate, Might but they stop and here forgive Would break the bonds to breathe and live And find that God in goodness brings A chance for change, the hope of wings To rest in Him, and self to die And so become a butterfly.

We are all butterflies. Earth is our chrysalis.

a flower knows, when its butterfly will return, and if the moon walks out, the sky will understand; but now it hurts, to watch you leave so soon, when I don't know, if you will ever come back.

A fallen blossom returning to the bough, I thought -- But no, a butterfly.

The dark side of the butterflies: Another secret of the shadows The heart of the universe It's a summer afternoon. Summer's afternoon! Summer's afternoon! Summer's afternoon! you can feel the dark side of the butterflies? You can feel my most beautiful face? Summer's afternoon! Summer's afternoon! Summer's afternoon!

You are so young, Lyra, too young to understand this, but I shall tell you anyway and you'll understand it later: men pass in front of our eyes like butterflies, creatures of a brief season. We love them; they are brave, proud, beautiful, clever; and they die almost at once. They die so soon that our hearts are continually racked with pain. We bear their children, who are witches if they are female, human if not; and then in the blink of an eye they are gone, felled, slain, lost. Our sons, too. When a little boy is growing, he thinks he is immortal. His mother knows he isn't. Each time becomes more painful, until finally your heart is broken. Perhaps that is when Yambe-Akka comes for you. She is older than the tundra. Perhaps, for her, witches' lives are as brief as men's are to us.

But on paper, things can live forever. On paper, a butterfly never dies.

The thing about butterflies, Mr. Crow, is that they need to be admired from afar.

Hundreds of butterflies flitted in and out of sight like short-lived punctuation marks in a stream of consciousness without beginning or end.

A segregated spiritual subculture does women no good, even if it does have adorable butterflies in the logo.

What's a butterfly garden without butterflies?

The sound of a million butterflies flapping their wings is indescribable. It's very heavenly.

None of my films are 'Pollyanna.' They're not little deers walking around with butterflies and stuff. That's not what I do.