Butterfly Funny Quotes

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

I'm about as intimidating as a butterfly.

Butterfly?" Will said. "Why Butterfly?" "I believe it's a term of great respect," Selethen said gravely. He was very obviously not laughing. Too obviously, Will thought. "It's all right for you," he said. "They called you 'Hawk.' Hawk is an excellent name. It's warlike and noble. But....Butterfly? Selethen nodded. "I agree that Hawk is an entirely suitable name. I assume it had to do with my courage and nobility of heart. Halt coughed and the Arridi lord looked at him, eyebrows raised. "I think it referred less to your heart and more to another part of your body," Halt said mildly. He tapped his finger meaningfully along the side of his nose. It was a gesture he'd always wanted an opportunity to use, and this one was to good to miss. Selethen sniffed and turned away, affecting not to notice.

I couldn't think of anything helpful to say, so I resorted to humor, my shield of last resort. 'Just please tell me they don't have a dog and a picket fence.' He smiled. 'No fence, but a dog, two dogs.' 'What kind of dogs?' I asked. He smiled and glanced at me, wanting to see my reaction. 'Maltese. Their names are Peeka and Boo.' 'Oh, shit, Edward, you're joking me.' 'Donna wants the dogs included in the engagement pictures.' I stared at him, and the look on my face seemed to amuse him. He laughed. 'I'm glad you're here, Anita, because I don't know a single other person who I'd have admitted this to.

Minutes passed by. A little blue butterfly landed on my nose. I blinked at it and it fluttered to my ear. A big yellow butterfly gently floated over and landed on my paw. Soon a whole swarm of them floated up and down around me, like a swirl of multicolored petals. It happened in my backyard, too, if the magic was strong enough. Butterflies were small and light, and very magic sensitive. For some reason I made them feel safe and they gravitated to me like iron shavings to a magnet. They ruined my ferocious badass image, but you’d have to be a complete beast to swat butterflies. If a baby deer frolicked out from between the buildings trying to cuddle up, I would roar. I wouldn’t bite it, but I would roar. I had my limits.

Today I'm on tell you bout a man from outer space." She just loves hearing about peoples from outer space. Her favorite show on the tee-vee is My Favorite Martian, I pull on my antennae hats I shaped last night out a tin foil, fasten em on our heads. One for her and one for me. We look like we a couple a crazy people in them things. "One day, a wise Martian come down to Earth to teach us people a thing or two," I say. "Martian? How big?" "oh, he about six-two." "What's his name?" "Martian Luther King." She take a deep breath and lean her head down on my shoulder. I feel her three-year-old heart racing against mine, flapping like butterflies on my white uniform. "He was a real nice Martian, Mister King. Looked just like us, nose, mouth, hair up on his head, but sometime people looked at him funny and sometime, well, I guess sometime people was just downright mean." I coul get in a lot a trouble telling her these little stories, especially with Mister Leefolt. But Mae Mobley know these our "secret stories". "Why Aibee? Why was they so mean to him?" she ask. "Cause he was green.

Take time to be a butterfly.

We think we owe everyone something. We think we need to explain ourselves and we think too much about thinking too much. And it is funny how we think we know it all, but the reality is this: everything we think that brings us together is everything that sets us further apart. And over thinking of how different we all are; is failing to recognize of how connected we all could really be.

It's funny how these days, when every household has its own inter-continental ballistic missile, you hardly even think about them. . . . A lot of us, though, have started painting the missiles different colors, even decorating them with our own designs, like butterflies or stenciled flowers. They take up so much space in the backyard, they might as well look nice, and the government leaflets don't say that you have to use the paint they supply.

I tried not to let my relief show. I’d been a passenger in Jae’s car a total of three times, and after each trip, I forced myself not to kiss the ground in thanks once I got free of the Explorer. He’d learned to drive in Seoul. Apparently, no one believed in turn signals or lanes in South Korea, because Jae drove like a drunk butterfly heading to its next fermented flower.

The funny thing about almost-dying is that afterward everyone expects you to jump on the happy train and take time to chase butterflies through grassy fields or see rainbows in puddles of oil on the highway. It’s a miracle, they’ll say with an expectant look, as if you’ve been given a big old gift and you better not disappoint Grandma by pulling a face when you unwrap the box and find a lumpy, misshapen sweater. That’s what life is, pretty much: full of holes and tangles and ways to get stuck. Uncomfortable and itchy. A present you never asked for, never wanted, never chose. A present you’re supposed to be excited to wear, day after day, even when you’d rather stay in bed and do nothing. The truth is this: it doesn’t take any skill to almost-die, or to almost-live, either.

Isn't it funny how the moments that define our lives the most are almost always the smallest? A scattering of almost inconsequential seconds that steer our course; the proverbial butterfly wings which produce the hurricane of our lives. Single sentences, concepts, and choices-especially choices-which make or break who you are, and who you will become.

Butterflies are like women— we may look pretty and delicate, but baby, we can fly through a hurricane.

I can't help it, I run up to him and put my arms around him. Shocked he pulls away, just a little because my arms are still around him and he lifts my head to look at him and kisses me. "And you've been trying to act like you aren't interested." he says while smiling that smile that makes butterflies suddenly appear in multitudes in my stomach.

Funny how perfection can mean a million things. Tonight, it’s a boy and supermarket salads, the air tasting of salt and second chances, and a butterfly feeling in my chest.

The past is a funny thing, Ruby. It is nature’s most underestimated ghost. It is still very much alive. Its heart still beats, it haunts. And it is always impacting, always dictating the future, which eventually becomes the past. You see, it multiplies, this enigma. It grows larger and larger until at the end, it swallows your entire life. Every day, every moment becomes the past.

The only nightmare I could remember was from when I was a very small child, maybe three or four years old. Cookie Monster from Sesame Street had been babysitting me and kept chasing me around the house calling me 'Cookie'. I was trying to focus on it, but at sixteen years old, it was funny to me now.

The funny thing about advice is, we always tell others the things we cannot really do ourselves.

Funny how the good memories flit by like butterflies: fleeting, fragile, impossible to capture without crushing them. But the bad ones—the guilt, the shame—they hang on in there, like parasites. Quietly eating you away from the inside.

Welhewan is charming us,' Sasha says in an unsure voice. 'It is trying to soothe us with its lullaby. Do not let yourself . . . Oh, a butterfly. Look how beautiful it is! No, don't look. The forest is making us happy, and we cannot let it.

Ain’t it queer that she’d take to stones, bugs, and butterflies, and save them. Now they are going to bring her the very thing she wants the worst. Lord, but this is a funny world when you get to studying! Looks like things didn’t all come by accident. Looks as if there was a plan back of it, and somebody driving that knows the road, and how to handle the lines. Anyhow, Elnora’s in the wagon, and when I get out in the night and the dark closes around me, and I see the stars, I don’t feel so cheap.

Bertie: Any message for him? Roderick Spode: Yes. Tell him I'm going to break his neck. Bertie: Break his neck, right. And, if he should ask why? Roderick Spode: He knows why. Because he is a butterfly, who toys with women's hearts and throws them away like soiled gloves! Bertie: Do butterflies do that? Roderick Spode: Are you trying to be funny?

The butterflies were performing circus tricks now, flying through hoops of fire. Lexi had read about infatuation once. Some writer had doused the romantic notion of winged insects. He'd said the funny feeling was simply the motion of common sense fleeing the body. It made more sense, in a world where few things did. Lexi smiled, reveling in the feeling.

Bertie : [on Gussie] Any message for him? Roderick Spode - 8th Earl of Sidcup: Yes. Tell him I'm going to break his neck. Bertie : Break his neck, right. And, if he should ask why? Roderick Spode - 8th Earl of Sidcup : He knows why. Because he is a butterfly, who toys with women's hearts and throws them away like soiled gloves! Bertie : Do butterflies do that? Roderick Spode - 8th Earl of Sidcup : Are you trying to be funny?

I don't think you should be afraid of butterflies anymore," she said. "I'm too old for it?" "No, it's not that," Stella said, turning toward the door. "It's only--it's funny, isn't it? It's completely counter-evolutionary. How we're scared of things that we might break. So much of our focus goes there. Protecting them, caring for them." "Well, what should we be afraid of instead?" "Why, the things that might break us, of course," said Stella.

I woke up in the hospital. Doctor Cunningham was bending over me. I thought, "We have to stop meeting like this," but didn't even try to say it out loud. "You've lost blood and had your stitches redone. Do you think you can stay in here long enough for me to actually release you this time?" I think I smiled. "Yes, Doctor." "Just in case you got any funny ideas about leaving, I've doped you up with enough pain killers to make you feel really good. So sleep, and I'll see you in the morning." My eyes fluttered shut once, then opened. Edward was there. He bent over me and whispered, "Crawling through bushes on your belly, threatening to cut off a man's balls. Such a hard ass." My voice came faintly even to me. "Had to save your ass." He bent over me and kissed on my forehead.

The funny thing about almost-dying is that afterward everyone expects you to jump on the happy train and take time to chase butterflies through grassy fields or see rainbows in puddles of oil on the highway. It’s a miracle, they’ll say with an expectant look, as if you’ve been given a big old gift and you better not disappoint Grandma by pulling a face when you unwrap the box and find a lumpy, misshapen sweater. That’s what life is, pretty much: full of holes and tangles and ways to get stuck. Uncomfortable and itchy. A present you never asked for, never wanted, never chose. A present you’re supposed to be excited to wear, day after day, even when you’d rather stay in bed and do nothing. The truth is this: it doesn’t take any skill to almost-die, or to almost-live, either.

Something touched her shoulder. a light touch, as if a butterfly had landed there. She stiffened, but something told her not to open her eyes. "Grace." A soft voice, unmistakable. She sucked in her breath. "Oh--Christopher--" "Don't turn around," he said. "Or look at me." I am only a very little bit here, Grace. It is taking all my strength for you to hear me. I cannot also make myself seen." Don't turn around. She thought of Orpheus in the Greek tales, who had been forbidden from turning to look behind him at his dead wife as he escorted her from the underworld. He had failed, and lost her. Grace had always thought he was silly-- surely it could not be that difficult simply not to turn around and look at someone. But it was. She felt the ache inside her like pain, the loss of Christopher. Who had understood her, and not judged her. "I thought," she whispered, "ghosts could only return if they had unfinished business. Are the fire-messages yours?" "I think," she whispered, "ghosts could only return if they had unfinished business. Are the fire-messages yours?" "I think," he said, "that you are my unfinished business." "What do you mean?" "You don't need my help to solve this," said Christopher, and she could seehim, behind her eyelids, looking at her with his funny quizzical smile, his eyes such a dark violet behind his spectacles. You only need to believe that you can solve it. And you can. You are a natural scientist, Grace, and a solver of puzzles. All you have to do is silence the voice in your head that says you aren't good enough, don't know enough. I have faith in you.

I woke up in the hospital. Doctor Cunningham was bending over me. I thought, "We have to stop meeting like this," but didn't even try to say it out loud. "You've lost blood and had your stitches redone. Do you think you can stay in here long enough for me to actually release you this time?" I think I smiled. "Yes, Doctor." "Just in case you got any funny ideas about leaving, I've doped you up with enough pain killers to make you feel really good. So sleep, and I'll see you in the morning." My eyes fluttered shut once, then opened. Edward was there. He bent over me and whispered, "Crawling through bushes on your belly, threatening to cut off a man's balls. Such a hard ass." My voice came faintly even to me. "Had to save your ass." He bent over me and kissed on my forehead, or maybe I dreamed that part.

who nodded as well. The relief hit Clearsight so hard, she nearly had to lie down again. But the dragons beckoned her to follow them, and they all took off, flying cautiously through the storm-tossed treetops. Dragons appeared between the leaves as she swept through the forest with her two companions, all of them watching her with startled curiosity. Most of them were dark green and brown with leaf-shaped wings. That’s their name in Dragon, she realized from a new cascade of visions. LeafWings. But about a quarter of them were the other tribe, the one Clearsight didn’t have a name for yet, and those glittered like jewels on the branches: gold and blue and purple and orange and every color of the rainbow. She saw a tiny lavender dragonet clinging to a branch, and for a moment Clearsight was alarmed to see that she didn’t have any wings. Then she spotted little wingbuds on the dragonet’s back and remembered—or foresaw, or remembered foreseeing—that the glittering tribe grew their wings a few years after hatching. Growing up wingless . . . that must be so strange. Clearsight’s mind flashed to that other vision, the horrible one, where this dragonet had been one of the many bodies left in the hurricane wreckage. But instead, tomorrow the little dragon would wake up and chase butterflies in the sunlight, complaining that she wanted blackberries for breakfast. I saved her. I did something right. The green dragon called out in a booming voice like a bell tolling. Whatever he said, the dragons around them repeated it, passing it along. Clearsight could hear the echoes of other dragon voices rolling through the forest. She felt the drumming wingbeats behind her as both tribes rose into the air and followed them to safety. “You save us,” said the shimmering dragon, looping around to fly beside Clearsight. He smiled at her again. “You safe now, too.” Maybe I am, she thought. I stopped Darkstalker. I saved Fathom, and the NightWings, and my parents. And now I’ve found a new home, with new dragons to save. I can help them with my visions. I can do everything right this time. New futures exploded in her mind. She might marry this kind, funny dragon, whose name would turn out to be Sunstreak. Or she could end up with a dragon she’d meet in three days, while helping to clean up the forest, whose gentle green eyes were nothing like Darkstalker’s.

Knock, knock. Who's there? A: Lettuce Q: Lettuce who? A: Lettuce in, it's freezing out here.. . 2. Q: What do elves learn in school? A: The elf-abet . 3. Q: Why was 6 afraid of 7? A: Because: 7 8 9 . . 4. Q. how do you make seven an even number? A. Take out the s! . 5. Q: Which dog can jump higher than a building? A: Anydog – Buildings can’t jump! . 6. Q: Why do bananas have to put on sunscreen before they go to the beach? A: Because they might peel! . 7. Q. How do you make a tissue dance? A. You put a little boogie in it. . 8. Q: Which flower talks the most? A: Tulips, of course, 'cause they have two lips! . 9. Q: Where do pencils go for vacation? A: Pencil-vania . 10. Q: What did the mushroom say to the fungus? A: You're a fun guy [fungi]. . 11. Q: Why did the girl smear peanut butter on the road? A: To go with the traffic jam! . 11. Q: What do you call cheese that’s not yours? A: Nacho cheese! . 12. Q: Why are ghosts bad liars? A: Because you can see right through them. . 13. Q: Why did the boy bring a ladder to school? A: He wanted to go to high school. . 14. Q: How do you catch a unique animal? A: You neak up on it. Q: How do you catch a tame one? A: Tame way. . 15. Q: Why is the math book always mad? A: Because it has so many problems. . 16. Q. What animal would you not want to pay cards with? A. Cheetah . 17. Q: What was the broom late for school? A: Because it over swept. . 18. Q: What music do balloons hate? A: Pop music. . 19. Q: Why did the baseball player take his bat to the library? A: Because his teacher told him to hit the books. . 20. Q: What did the judge say when the skunk walked in the court room? A: Odor in the court! . 21. Q: Why are fish so smart? A: Because they live in schools. . 22. Q: What happened when the lion ate the comedian? A: He felt funny! . 23. Q: What animal has more lives than a cat? A: Frogs, they croak every night! . 24. Q: What do you get when you cross a snake and a pie? A: A pie-thon! . 25. Q: Why is a fish easy to weigh? A: Because it has its own scales! . 26. Q: Why aren’t elephants allowed on beaches? A:They can’t keep their trunks up! . 27. Q: How did the barber win the race? A: He knew a shortcut! . 28. Q: Why was the man running around his bed? A: He wanted to catch up on his sleep. . 29. Q: Why is 6 afraid of 7? A: Because 7 8 9! . 30. Q: What is a butterfly's favorite subject at school? A: Mothematics. Jokes by Categories 20 Mixed Animal Jokes Animal jokes are some of the funniest jokes around. Here are a few jokes about different animals. Specific groups will have a fun fact that be shared before going into the jokes. 1. Q: What do you call a sleeping bull? A: A bull-dozer. . 2. Q: What to polar bears eat for lunch? A: Ice berg-ers! . 3. Q: What do you get from a pampered cow? A: Spoiled milk.

Taking a deep breath, Sailor decided to lay himself at her feet. "I was imagining the future and thinking of how if everything went according to plan, I'd have a very successful business with a high turnover." He made sure his hands were locked behind Ísa's back--just in case she decided to leave him in her dust a fourth time. "And since I'd be rich, I'd be able to buy houses and other nice things for my family." Ísa frowned. "I don't think your family expects that." "They don't exactly need my largess either," Sailor muttered. "But in my future fantasy, I'm buying everyone fancy cars and houses. Go with it." Ísa's lips twitched. "Okay, big spender. What else is fantasy Sailor doing?" "He's building a ginormous mansion. Swimming pool, tennis court, the works." "Is he hiring a buff personal masseuse named Sven?" "Hell no." He glared at her. "The masseuse is a fifty-year-old forner bodybuilder named Helga. Now, can I carry on?" Pretending to zip up her lips and throw away the key, Ísa made a "go on" motion. "Future Sailor is also creating a huge walk-in closet for you and filling it with designer shoes and clothes. He's giving you everything your heart desires." A flicker of darkness in Ísa's gaze, but she didn't interrupt... though her hands went still on his shoulders. "And there's a tricked-out nursery too," he added. "Plus a private playground for our rug rats." Throat moving, Ísa said, "How many?" It was a husky question. "Seven, I think." "Very funny, mister." "I'm not done." Sailor was the one who swallowed this time. "And in this fantasy house, future Sailor walks in late for dinner again because of a board meeting, and he has a gorgeous, sexy, brilliant wife and adorable children. But his redhead doesn't look at him the same anymore. And it doesn't matter how many shoes he buys her or how many necklaces he gives her, she's never again going to look at him the way she did before he stomped on her heart. Ísa's lower lip began to quiver, but she didn't speak. "I'm so sorry, baby." Sailor cupped her face, made sure she saw the sheer terror he felt at the thought of losing her. "I've been so tied to this idea of becoming a grand success that I forgot what it was all about in the first place--being there for the people I love. Sticking through the good and the bad. Never abandoning them." Silent tears rolled own Ísa's face. "But that great plan of mine?" he said, determined not to give himself any easy outs. "It'd have mean abandoning everyone. How can I be there for anyone when all I do is work? When I shove aside all other commitments? When the people I love hesitate to ask for my time because I'm too tired and too busy?" Using his thumbs, he rubbed away her tears. More splashed onto the backs of his hands, her hurt as hot as acid. "Spitfire, please," he begged, breaking. "I'll let you punch me as many times as you want if you stop crying. With a big red glove. And you can post photos online." Ísa pressed her lips together, blinked rapidly several times. And pretended to punch him with one fist, the touch a butterfly kiss. Catching her hand, he pressed his lips to it. "That's more like my Ísa." He wrapped his arms around her again. And then he told her the most important thing. "I realized that I could become a multimillionaire, but it would mean nothing if my redhead didn't look at me the way she does now, if she expected to have to take care of everything alone like she's always done--because her man was a selfish bastard who was never there." Ísa rubbed her nose against his. "You're being very hard on future Sailor," she whispered, her voice gone throaty. "That dumbass deserves it," Sailor growled. "He was going to put his desire to be a big man above his amazing, smart, loving redhead.

You’ve lost blood and had your stitches redone. Do you think you can stay in here long enough for me to actually release you this time?” I think I smiled. “Yes, Doctor.” “Just in case you got any funny ideas about leaving, I’ve doped you up with enough pain killers to make you feel really good. So sleep, and I’ll see you in the morning.” My eyes fluttered shut once, then opened. Edward was there. He bent over me and whispered, “Crawling through bushes on your belly, threatening to cut off a man’s balls. Such a hard ass.” My voice came faintly even to me. “Had to save your ass.” He bent over me and kissed me on my forehead, or maybe I dreamed that part.

—V. V. Ganeshananthan, author of Love Marriage “Compulsive reading. A deliciously timely, whip-smart buoyant dissection of men and women on the rise and the dynamics at play.” —Irenosen Okojie, author of Butterfly Fish “Beneath its high-octane, hi-tech surface, The Startup Wife is a funny, poignant, and supersmart story of ambition, independence, and love—a brilliant portrait of the times we live in.” —Tash Aw, author of Five Star Billionaire “Brilliant… A modern novel about love, startups, technology, ambition, and the future, all wrapped up in one. It’s very clever, but also subtle and very funny too.” —Emma Gannon, author of Olive

Jenny stiffened. “Nothing’s wrong.” There was a sharpness, a tone I had never heard her use before. It hurt having it directed at me, the edges of those two words cutting, making it hard for me to swallow. “Sorry,” I said. “I’ll go.” “Wait.” She grabbed my wrist before I could turn. “I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you.” “It’s okay,” I said. Words were funny like that. One moment they could wound you, turn into bricks that would sink to the bottom of your stomach. The next moment those bricks were transforming into butterflies, eagles, pterodactyls, Frisbees, various flying objects rising to your chest and nesting in the spaces between your ribs. I smiled at her, relieved that we were all good.

Mencheres let Kira run for a few paces before he stepped in front of her. She collided with him hard enough to knock a scream out of her, but he absorbed the impact as if she were a butterfly. “That’s two brave yet foolish things you’ve done today,” Mencheres noted. Kira’s breathing was labored, but her aim was steady as she punched him squarely in the chest. “Damn it! It’s you again, isn’t it?” He could see her clearly in the dark, but she’d be almost blind with the lack of lights on the lawn. “Yes, it’s me,” Mencheres replied. He didn’t comment about the punch though he couldn’t remember the last time a person had actually struck him. “You watched me the whole time, didn’t you?” Kira demanded. Bitterness wafted from her, changing her scent from lemons and sea spray to something harsher. “Why? Did you think it was funny, seeing me try to get away?” In fact he had been amused, but only because he knew she was never in real danger. The angry desperation in her tone made him pause, however. He might have known that Kira wasn’t in jeopardy, but she hadn’t. In truth, he had told her nothing to truly reassure her that she had no reason to fear, whether she was inside the house or dangling on a rope outside of it.

Time And Memory It's intriguing how a certain Point in our lives lingers with us. It's marked by a certain face, A haunting song, and of course A particular feeling. That point seems to define us, And its Memory fills us with melancholy - Through the knowledge that we had met Our happiest self, and were Too naive to hold on to it. That point where potential Met purpose, and love was a happy Song, and freedom was the wind on A butterfly's wings, and passion Was illicit yet unrestrained. Funny how the stolen fruit Is always the sweetest - Yet when immersed in morality That sweetness is leached, and Joys are exchanged for secrets. Funny how this Time flies by The swiftest, without the Slightest glance backwards, Taking our bodies hostage But leaving our minds behind. That point in our lives, where The body yearns to return, Just for a moment, to take Hold of its reality. But Time will never allow it, And gives Memory only a glimpse of it. The moments are never fully ours at all

Goodbye (Butterfly)" I gave my soul to you and held your heart so true Funny how time files, things trouble my eyes Stars all in your hair, it's my hand you should bear My how time files, you shiver when I die

So many people want to label you as funny or aggressive or a mess. We are condemned by other people to stagnate in the image they have of us; held ransom by their expectations like a butterfly pinned on cardboard.

I sure wasn't going to ask Aunt Sally, because if she told me once that getting your period was like a moth becoming a butterfly, she'd probably say that sexual intercourse was like a deer getting antlers or something.

I know it sounds funny, but with billions of people on this planet, there’s no way that I lost my only chance at love. There has to be someone else, because there’s enough people on this planet to create more than one great love.

A smile spreads over my face as I think about Rafael. He’s still an asshole to everyone else in this school but in the small pockets of time we happen to get alone, he’s different. Still cocky and possessive but also kind, thoughtful, and surprisingly funny. Just thinking about this past week we’ve had together is enough to make butterflies dance in my stomach.

Something funny happened to my stomach when he so casually alluded to the future.  It was what people called butterflies, but I was pretty sure it normally happened right before a kiss.  Then again, I wasn’t a normal girl.

Late into the morning, obscuring the midday sun, the storm comes. I unfetter myself, loosen my chains of politeness into the Queen’s Dance, and let the clawing, feral rage unfurl that has been simmering and roiling in my gut and my blood. With each whip of wind and hair, each drop of rain and sweat, each swing of hip and thunder, I let the rage slip out of me, seep through my pores, screech into the sand. I become the Earth, and I bleed her wrath. I surrender to the Song, and I rage. Funny, how by fully giving myself over to the all, I can at last feel and face my own emotion. Balanced on a sword’s edge only, oh yes, every moment just as likely to tip me into losing myself as knowing myself. I cackle and yowl. This is life. The life in which I am invincible, in which I am all. Who can destroy that? My darkness will always be deeper. And the life in which I hover like the butterfly in the wild kiss of the hurricane. Will it destroy me this second, or the next? For destroy me it will. And yet, what choice do I have but to feel it all, live it all, rise again and again, the phoenix from ash? What choice would I ever want to make, but this wrenching, heart-aching glory?

I often get letters from people who say how they like the programs a lot, but I never give credit to the almighty power that created nature, to which I reply and say, "Well, it's funny that the people, when they say that this is evidence of the almighty, always quote beautiful things, they always quote orchids and hummingbirds and butterflies and roses." But I always have to think, too, of a little boy sitting on the banks of a river in west Africa who has a worm boring through his eyeball, turning him blind before he's five years old, and I reply and say, "Well, presumably the god you speak about created the worm as well," and now, I find that baffling to credit a merciful god with that action.

What's up with this guild title you gave me? I'm not a babysitter! Get rid of it! Get rid of it!" Blue River had been talking in the guild chat oblivious to the name Ye Xiu had assigned the entire time! Then he had suddenly discovered that his character had a title over his head that said "Guild Happy's Number one Babysitter.

Yo, there's a lot of people. What'd you do?" Huantg Shaotian looked at the incoming pursuers. "I set dungeon records," Ye Xiu said.

They really had found a BOSS. Unfortunately, it wast the Fire Witch BOSS, but the Lord Grim BOSS. The Lord Grim BOSS was very mighty. He could frontally assault, sneak attack, and flank. His mighty aggro range was also extremely large, and he could wander around anywhere. He would automatically find players and start attacking them.

The elite began to evacuate from the forest. They were the future of their guilds and were delicate flowers that their guilds had worked hard to cultivate. They couldn't let themselves be ravaged by Lord Grim.

Kayla froze and looked at her neighbor’s fence. A low masculine chuckle floated on the night, doing funny things to her insides. Grass crunched as footsteps approached the five-foot fence. When a handsome face appeared above it, butterflies filled her belly. Nick Belanger smiled at her, his brown eyes glinting with amusement in the ambient illumination cast by the floodlights. “Everything okay?” Straightening, she returned his smile and held up the snail. “Yes. Just stopping this little bugger. He and his buddies keep devouring my pepper plants.” He grinned. Damn, he was handsome. Not in a pretty-boy way, but in a ruggedly masculine way. His short black hair was slicked back from his face, still wet from a recent shower. His strong jaw bore a five-o’clock shadow. His straight white teeth provided sharp contrast to the dark stubble that coated his cheeks. She’d been attracted to him ever since she had moved next door to him six years ago.

Life is short. If you doubt me, ask a butterfly. Their average life span is a mere five to fourteen days.” ― Ellen DeGeneres, The Funny Thing Is...

If he goes any slower, he will never make it,” Jed commented. Vic elbowed him, eliciting a grunt from him. “I mean, take your time, buddy!

The wildest flower opened before the rain or Sun reached our Dawn. The fairytale flower has a magic way of silver letters high in the sky. When all the flowers are trembling wild, she stays quiet, it is her task. As all flowers multiply in butterflies, this funny flower is silent in her day. The job of a small one was to be more than all intentions could have one dream to be sung!

When I asked Stephen, age two, for a kiss he would say, “I’ll give you a smooch.” He'd put his hands on each side of his face and pucker up, musing contentedly, “What kind shall I give her? […Grandma Joy’s ducky kisses, butterfly kisses, or….]