At First We Raced Through Space, Like Shadows And Light; Her Rants, My Raves; Her Dark Hair, My Blonde; Black Dresses, White. She's A Purple-black African-violet-dark Butterfly And I A White Moth. We Were Two Wild Ponies, Dawn And Midnight, The Wind Electrifying Our Manes And Our Hooves Quaking The City; We Were Photo Negatives Of Each Other, Together Making The Perfect Image Of A Girl.
You Turned Your Head To Look At Me. Your Eyes Looked So Big In Your Face, So Mysterious — Wide And Flickering Like A Butterfly-wing Mask. When You Saw Me The Wails Turned To Sobs, And Then Just Quieter Heaves Of Your Body. I Held Out My Finger Through The Bars. Then You Reached Out And Curled Your Fingers Around Mine, So Tight. I Knew You Recognized Me. That Was The First Time I Knew I Had A Heart Inside My Body.
Me Plus You. (imma Tell You One Time) Me Plus You. (imma Tell You One Time) Me Plus You. (imma Tell You One Time) One Time. When I Met Ya Girl My Heart When Knock (knock Knock) Now Them Butterflies In My Stomach Won't Stop (stop Stop) Even Love Is A Struggle And It's All We Got. So We Gun Keep Keep Climbing To The Mountain Top. 'cause Your World, Is My World, And My Breath Is Your Breath, And My Heart Is Yours.
Death Consists, Indeed, In A Repeated Process Of Unrobing, Or Unsheathing. The Immortal Part Of Man Shakes Off From Itself, One After The Other, Its Outer Casings, And - As The Snake From Its Skin, The Butterfly From Its Chrysalis - Emerges From One After Another, Passing Into A Higher State Of Consciousness.
Nature Is Always Lavish Of Her Gifts Even To The Most Insignificant Forms. The Butterflies And Moths Are Richly Dowered In This Respect.
I Would Much Rather Fight Pride Than Vanity, Because Pride Has A Stand-up Way Of Fighting. You Know Where It Is. It Throws Its Black Shadow On You, And You Are Not At A Loss Where To Strike. But Vanity Is That Delusive, That Insectiferous, That Multiplied Feeling, And Men That Fight Vanities Are Like Men That Fight Midges And Butterflies. It Is Easier To Chase Them Than To Hit Them.
I Shall State Silences More Competently Than Ever A Better Man Spangled The Butterflies Of Vertigo.
Farewell,' She Said. 'i Hope You Hear Many More Songs' - Which Was The Best Way She Could Think Of To Say Good-bye To A Butterfly.
I Will Drop Into Your Chest Like A Vegetal Ambrosia. I Will Be The Grain That Regenerates The Cruelly Plowed Furrow. Poetry Will Be Born Of Our Intimate Union. A God We Shall Create Together, And We Shall Soar Heavenward Like Sunbeams, Perfumes, Butterflies, Birds, And All Winged Things.
There's A Part Of Every Living Thing That Wants To Become Itself: The Tadpole Into The Frog, The Chrysalis Into The Butterfly, A Damaged Human Being Into A Whole One.that Is Spirituality.
