Cabbage White Butterfly Quotes

The Cabbage White The butterfly, a cabbage-white, (His honest idiocy of flight) Will never now, it is too late, Master the art of flying straight, Yet has- who knows so well as I?- A just sense of how not to fly: He lurches here and here by guess And God and hope and hopelessness. Even the acrobatic swift Has not his flying-crooked gift.

There's a moment in the buddleia's lifecycle, purple flowers blooming, cabbage white butterflies flitting, when it's beautiful and triumphant, sprouting out of the broken wall without an ounce of earth to flourish in. That's what we humans have to do, I think whenever I see it, keep blooming despite the barren circumstances we sometimes find ourselves in. After a few weeks the buddleia becomes a weed again, , with grime-splattered leaves and crispy brown flowers that never fall off. You can only fight so hard, and for so long, before your environment engulfs you.

Doesn't anything matter to you?' 'Survival,' I said, but even that sounded untrue now. 'I guess.' 'That's not much.' I painted a butterfly in Claire's room. Swallowtail. Another, cabbage white. 'I haven't gotten any farther than that.

The cabbage white flies through the tailor's cheek. The tailor sinks his head. The cabbage white flies out of the back of the tailor's head, white and uncrumpled. Skinny Wilma flaps her handkerchief. The cabbage white flies through her forehead and into her head.

Worship a cabbage white butterfly, or a cabbage root maggot, or a cabbage. For God is all of these equally, or nothing at all: take your pick. A messiah would be better off appearing as a flower- able to turn water into nectar- look there for a miracle! Worship what you will if you must...but the world needs love more than worship. In love lies the only real shelter there is...

Blown up by the warm wind and illuminated by the sun, Anna’s creamy dress was a large, bright spot against the meadow greenery full of small flowers. The effect was excellent, distinctly painterly, worthy of Claude Monet. Against the backdrop of the grass, Anna looked like a huge, well-fed cabbage white butterfly.

SNOW-WHITE AND ROSE-RED A POOR widow once lived in a little cottage with a garden in front of it, in which grew two rose trees, one bearing white roses and the other red. She had two children, who were just like the two rose trees; one was called Snow-white and the other Rose-red, and they were the sweetest and best children in the world, always diligent and always cheerful; but Snow-white was quieter and more gentle than Rose-red. Rose-red loved to run about the fields and meadows, and to pick flowers and catch butterflies ; but Snow-white sat at home with her mother and helped her in the household, or read aloud to her when there was no work to do. The two children loved each other so dearly that they always walked about hand-in-hand whenever they went out together, and when Snow-white said: ‘ We will never desert each other,’ Rose-red answered : ‘No, not as long as we live;’ and the mother added : ‘ Whatever one gets she shall share with the other.’ They often roamed about in the woods gathering berries and no beast offered to hurt them ; on the contrary, they came up to them in the most confiding manner ; the little hare would eat a cabbage leaf from their hands, the deer grazed beside them, the stag would bound past them merrily, and the birds remained on the branches and sang to them with all their might. No evil ever befell them ; if they tarried late in the wood and night