Flap Of A Butterfly Wing Quotes

When it happens, you’re totally unprepared, fragmented and lost, looking for the hidden meaning in every little thing. I’ve replayed the events of that day a hundred thousand times, looking for clues. An alternate ending. The Butterfly effect. If I could find the butterfly that flapped its wings before we got into the car that day, I would crush it.

If I could find the butterfly that flapped its wings before we got into the car that day, I would crush it.

Flower petals in the breeze look like a butterfly flapping its wings. My love for you takes flight like a white orchid blushing pink.

Chaos theory says that even a small change in initial conditions can lead to wildly unpredictable results. A butterfly flaps her wings now and a hurricane forms in the future.

It used to be thought that the events that changed the world were things like big bombs, maniac politicians, huge earthquakes, or vast population movements, but it has now been realized that this is a very old-fashioned view held by people totally out of touch with modern thought. The things that really change the world, according to Chaos theory, are the tiny things. A butterfly flaps its wings in the Amazonian jungle, and subsequently a storm ravages half of Europe.

Life is chaotic and unpredictable. If a butterfly flaps its wings in one part of the world, it could cause people at the opposite end of the globe to watch a Discovery Channel special on butterflies

If Frankie and I hadn't wanted ice cream that stupid day, he'd still be alive. If I hadn't gotten his heart all worked up kissing him every night since my birthday, he'd still be alive. If I'd never been born, he'd still be alive. If I could find the butterfly that flapped its wings before we got into the car that day, I would crush it.

It began as most thing begin. Not on a dark and stormy night. Not foreshadowed by ominous here comes the villain music, dire warning at the bottom of a teacup, or dread portents in the sky. It began small and innocuously, as most catastrophes do. A butterfly flaps its wings somewhere and the wind changes, and a warm front hits a cold front off the coast of western Africa and before you know it you’ve got an hurricane closing in. By the time anyone figured out the storm was coming, it was too late to do anything but batten down the hatches and exercise damage control.

In the rain-forests of Brutha’s subconscious the butterfly of doubt emerged and flapped an experimental wing, all unaware of what chaos theory has to say about this sort of thing …

A butterfly flaps its wings somewhere and the wind changes, and a warm front hits a cold front off the coast of western Africa and before you know it you've got a hurricane closing in. By the time anyone figured out the storm was coming, it was too late to do anything but batten down the hatches and exercise damage control.

As those who have seen Jurassic Park will know, this means a tiny disturbance in one place, can cause a major change in another. A butterfly flapping its wings can cause rain in Central Park, New York. The trouble is, it is not repeatable. The next time the butterfly flaps its wings, a host of other things will be different, which will also influence the weather. That is why weather forecasts are so unreliable.

They say that if a butterfly flaps its wings in the Amazonian rain forest, it can change the weather half a world away. Chaos theory. What it means is that everything that happens in this moment is an accumulation of everything that’s come before it. Every breath. Every thought. There is no innocent action. Some actions end up having the force of a tempest. Their impact cannot be missed. Others are the blink of an eye. Passing by unnoticed. Perhaps only God knows which is which. All I know today is that you can think that what you’ve done is only the flap of a butterfly wing, when it’s really a thunderclap. And both can result in a hurricane.

She did not know many beautiful animals that had sweet tempers, except perhaps butterflies. Then again, there wasn’t enough to a butterfly to properly be called a temper. That options did an angry butterfly have, anyway? Stamping eylashed-sized feet? Flapping its wings in a sarcastic manner?

One lone butterfly flapped his wings somewhere in the vicinity of my spleen. He was probably a scout. No doubt six million other butterflies were hot on his heels, if butterflies even have heels.

You've heard of the butterfly effect, right? That if a butterfly flaps its wings at just the right time in just the right place. It can cause a hurricane thousands of miles away. It's chaos theory, but see, chaos theory isn't exactly about chaos. It's about how a tiny change in a big system can affect everything.

Fractal litigation, whereby the flapping of a butterfly’s wings on one side of the world resulted in a massive compensation claim on the other.

I reached for a Coca-Cola. “Want some?” I asked. “I do not drink caffeine,” he said. “Wow, you make me look like a bad girl; that's hard to do.” He cracked a big smile for the first time I'd seen, and a huge dimple appeared in his right cheek. A butterfly wing flapped in my stomach. I turned my attention back to the drinks, fumbling a little for a cup. “Don't let me pressure you,” I said. “I was only kidding. We don't need you all hyped up on caffeine. How about ginger ale instead?" “Is that drink not only for upset stomachs?

Let Sporus tremble — "What? that thing of silk, Sporus, that mere white curd of ass's milk? Satire or sense, alas! can Sporus feel? Who breaks a Butterfly upon a Wheel?" Yet let me flap this Bug with gilded wings, This painted Child of Dirt that stinks and stings; Whose Buzz the Witty and the Fair annoys, Yet Wit ne'er tastes, and Beauty ne'er enjoys,

Wherever you are, dear butterfly, keep flapping your chaotic wings. Flap them. Flap them like your little life depends upon it... or at least my little death.

Selethen was names Hawk. Alyss had been given the title of Tsuru, or Crane. . .Evanlynn was Kitsune, the Nihon-Jan word for Fox . . .Halt strangly enough had been known only as Halto-san. . . But Will had been taken aback in his confrotation with Arisaka to discover that his name - Chocho - meant "butterfly". It seemed a highly unwarlike name to him- not at all glamorous.And he was puzzled to know why they had selected it. His friends,of course, were delighted in helping him guess the reason. "I assume its because you're such a snazzy dresser," Evanlynn said. "You Rangers are like a riot of color after all." Will glared at her and was mortified to hear Alyss snigger at the princess's sally. He'd thought Alyss, at least, might stick up for him. "I think it might be more to do with the way he raced around the the training ground, darting here and there to correct the way a man might be holding his sheidl then dashing off to show someone how to put theri body weight into their javelin cast," said Horace, a little more sympathetically. Then he ruined the effect by adding thoughtlessly, "I must say, your cloak did flutter around like a butterfly's wings." "It was neither of those things," Halt said finally, and they all turned to look at him. "I asked Shigeru," he explained. "He said that they had all noticed how Will's mind and imagination darts from one idea to another at such high speed," . . Will looked mollified. "Isuppose it's not too bad it you put it that way. It's just it does seem a bit . . girly." .... " I like my name Horace said a little smugly. "Black Bear. It describes my prodigous strength and my mighty prowess in battle." Alyss might have let him get away with it if it hadn't been for his tactless remark about Will's cloak flapping like a butterfly's wings. "Not quite," she said. "I asked Mikeru where the name came from. He said it described your prdogious appetite and your mighty prowess at the dinner table. It seems that when you were escaping through the mountains, Shigeru and his followers were worried you'd eat the supplies all by yourself." There was a general round of laughter. After a few seconds, Horace joined in.

History is often the tale of small moments—chance encounters or casual decisions or sheer coincidence—that seem of little consequence at the time, but somehow fuse with other small moments to produce something momentous, the proverbial flapping of a butterfly’s wings that triggers a hurricane.

A butterfly could flap its wings and set molecules of air in motion, which would move other molecules of air, in turn moving more molecules of air— eventually capable of starting a hurricane on the other side of the planet.

While most people whittle their days chasing another buck, or a little bit more fame and attention, or a little bit more assurance that they're right or loved, death confronts all of us with a far more painful and important question: What is your legacy? How will the world be different and better when you're gone? What mark will you have made? What influence will you have caused? They say that a butterfly flapping its wings in Africa can cause a hurricane in Florida; well, what hurricanes will you leave in your wake?

Keeping The City "Unless the Lord keepeth the city, the watchman guardeth in vain" - John F. Kennedy's unspoken words in Dallas on November 23, 1963. Once, in August, head on your chest, I heard wings battering up the place, something inside trying to fly out and I was silent and attentive, the watchman. I was your small public, your small audience but it was you that was clapping, it was you untying the snarls and knots, the webs, all bloody and gluey; you with your twelve tongues and twelve wings beating, wresting, beating, beating your way out of childhood, that airless net that fastened you down. Since then I was more silent though you had gone miles away, tearing down, rebuilding the fortress. I was there but could do nothing but guard the city lest it break. I was silent. I had a strange idea I could overhear but that your voice, tongue, wing belonged solely to you. The Lord was silent too. I did not know if he could keep you whole, where I, miles away, yet head on your chest, could do nothing. Not a single thing. The wings of the watchman, if I spoke, would hurt the bird of your soul as he nested, bit, sucked, flapped. I wanted him to fly, burst like a missile from your throat, burst from the spidery-mother-web, burst from Woman herself where too many had laid out lights that stuck to you and left a burn that smarted into your middle age. The city of my choice that I guard like a butterfly, useless, useless in her yellow costume, swirling swirling around the gates. The city shifts, falls, rebuilds, and I can do nothing. A watchman should be on the alert, but never cocksure. And The Lord - who knows what he keepeth?

The butterflies I get every time we’re together, are flapping their wings as fast as a hummingbird’s.

Follow your heart and what it's saying, after you die, an when you live. What he/ she lives is what she/he is giving to you . Enjoy it and you'll be happy. Love isn't a game ,love is a portrait, of a beautiful butterfly flapping it's wings to the horizon.

I like to imagine the impact I’ve made on the world. What possible realities am I pruning, what events am I setting in motion, each time I take a life? If the flap of a butterfly’s wing can alter the course of a hurricane, what am I doing when I take a human life? The life of a person who interacts with dozens of people every day, who would have a career, romance, children?

Have you ever heard of the butterfly effect? I learned about it in Science last year… Basically, the butterfly effect is a chaos theory, attributed to a guy named Edward Lorenz. Here’s the Clffnotes version: A butterfly flaps its wings in Brazil, and it sets off a tornado in Texas. It means the smallest moments of the past, even the ones that don’t have anything to do with us, affect our future, and our future selves

I'm sorry I started all this by trying to fly and I'd take it back if I could but I can't, so please think of it from my point of view: if you die I will have a dead brother and it will be me instead of you who suffers. Justin thought of his brother on that warm summer day, standing up on the windowsill holding both their futures, light and changeable as air, in his outstretched arms. Of course, Justin thought, I'm part of his fate just as he's part of mine. I hadn't considered it from his point of view. Or from the point of view of the universe, either. It's just a playing field crammed full of cause and effect, billions of dominoes, each knocking over billions more, setting off trillions of actions every second. A butterfly flaps its wings in Africa and my brother in Luton thinks he can fly. The child nodded. A piano might fall on your head, he said, but it also might not. And in the meantime you never know. Something nice might happen.

A speck of ire can blaze a fire; the fate of war can be sealed with a dart, a butterfly flapping its wings may turn the tide miles apart!

Beautiful butterflies flap their delicate wings in my abdomen before I clench my abs and drown them in stomach acid.

What options did an angry butterfly have, anyway? Stamping eyelash-sized feet? Flapping its wings in a sarcastic manner? In

Sometimes a butterfly flaps its wings and the weather turns out fine.

across caste and makes a connection, it helps to break the back of caste. Multiplied by millions in a given day, it becomes the flap of a butterfly wing that shifts the air and builds to a hurricane across an ocean.

Hunting butterflies requires an oblique approach. If one charges them directly, they flit away, mapping a mazy, elusive path until they disappear from sight with a final flap of jeweled, defiant wings. But if one is cunning and careful, it is possible to approach them so subtly they do not realize you are upon them until the net descends. The trick is move with them, parallel but not intersecting, guiding them gently to a suitable landing spot where they can be captured without injury. The timing is all. Hurry them and they will bolt. Dawdle and they will dart away after some tasty sip of nectar. It requires patience, skill, and resolve - qualities I had in abundance and which Stoker would give me ample opportunity to exercise.

Just a week ago, I felt like a butterfly that had spent years inside some sort of cocoon. I'd been afraid to venture out into the world on my own. But I flapped my wings a few times, and once I started to fly, the isolated darkness I'd been in for so long seemed more like a punishment than a place of protection. Now I desperately wanted to crawl back into that cocoon, yet it seemed I could no longer fit.

So really there's almost no point in planning anything out at all, because life is so infinitely complex that you can almost never just take a straight road from A to B without going via the whole rest of the alphabet first, and all because a butterfly happened to flap its wings in Thailand

A butterfly flapping its wings in Australia can cause rain in Central Park, New York.

Butterfly Effect If butterfly’s flapping wings in Ohio, can cause a sandstorm in Texas, then batting your eyelashes next to me, can cause a hurricane near my solar plexus. (…)

There aren’t butterflies in my stomach. No soft pitter-patters  of flapping wings or gentle flips. Instead, he causes an inferno, raging through my system and disintegrating me.

The subprime butterfly had flapped its wings and triggered a global hurricane.

Next door I could hear the old man’s soul flap its heavy vermillion butterfly wings as the hustler shot a load down his throat.

They say that we’re all made by our previous lives. Our affinities for each other were made in the deep past, and when we meet people who become important in our lives, it may seem like a chance accident—no more significant than the flapping of a butterfly’s wing—but in fact a hidden force is drawing us together across the surface of the stream of life. Yuanfen, they call it.

The things that really change the world, according to Chaos theory, are the tiny things. A butterfly flaps its wings in the Amazonian jungle, and subsequently a storm ravages half of Europe.

The most basic tenet of chaos theory is that a small change in initial conditions—a butterfly flapping its wings in Brazil—can produce a large and unexpected divergence in outcomes—a tornado in Texas.

Her unbound dark hair flapped behind her, and the cool night breeze fluttered her black silk nightclothes against her skin like a thousand butterfly wings. It was the feeling of freedom breathing against her,

Our bodies align with these rhythms of life in our footsteps (slow tiptoe or urgent stomp), the sleeping rise-fall breath of your baby on your chest, or a row of oak trees mirrored in a rippling lake. A butterfly’s wings flap every second—flapflapflap—to keep it free-floating through the sky, dipping now and again to kiss sweet flowers. Rhythms benefit from variety too; a gentle spring rainstorm turns dramatic with an unexpected thunderclap.

Chaos theory says that even a small change in initial conditions can lead to wildly unpredictable results. A butterfly flaps her wings now and a hurricane forms in the future. Still. I think if I could just find the moment, I could take it apart piece by piece, molecule by molecule, until I got down to the atomic level, until I got to the part that was inviolate and essential. If I could take it apart and understand it then maybe I could make just exactly the right change.

m a butterfly!” screamed the fat man as he ran, flapping his arms like two really flabby, really rubbish wings. “You’re actually not,” Valkyrie Cain told him for the eighth time. He ran around her in a big circle, bathed in moonlight, and she just stood there with her head down. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and moments earlier she’d had to drag her eyes away from his wobbling bosoms before they made her feel queasy. Now that his trousers were starting their inexorable slide downwards, she was averting her gaze altogether. “Please,” she said, “pull up your trousers.

The turning points in life, the really important decisions, are rarely dramatic. The first time someone tries heroin isn’t life-altering, but the three-hundredth time, the time their heart stops, sure is. Every human is an unwieldy vessel, weighed down with hopes and dreams. We turn so slowly that we don’t even realise we are moving at all. We creatures of habit, our momentum is all-consuming. For every action there are consequences we could never anticipate; it’s how we grow, each of us, from worms into butterflies, flapping our wings and making tornadoes on the other side of the world.

The most basic tenet of chaos theory is that a small change in initial conditions—a butterfly flapping its wings in Brazil—can produce a large and unexpected divergence in outcomes—a tornado in Texas. This does not mean that the behavior of the system is random, as the term “chaos” might seem to imply. Nor

No one is alone in this world. No act is without consequences for others. It is a tenet of chaos theory that, in dynamical systems, the outcome of any process is sensitive to its starting point-or, in the famous cliche, the flap of a butterfly's wings in the Amazon can cause a tornado in Texas. I do not assert markets are chaotic, though my fractal geometry is one of the primary mathematical tools of "chaology." But clearly, the global economy is an unfathomably complicated machine. To all the complexity of the physical world of weather, crops, ores, and factories, you add the psychological complexity of men acting on their fleeting expectations of what may or may not happen-sheer phantasms. Companies and stock prices, trade flows and currency rates, crop yields and commodity futures-all are inter-related to one degree or another, in ways we have barely begun to understand. In such a world, it is common sense that events in the distant past continue to echo in the present.

A butterfly flaps its wings far away, let's say, over Beijing. The flapping makes a small change to the wind, which makes another small change to the waves. All those little changes add up to big changes, and by the time those changes appear far, far away... Those tiny wings can lead to whipping winds, churning seas, and a mighty storm... Or a perfectly sunny day. You never know! Small changes, big unpredictable effects!

Kostas Papaioannou" the wave of your laughter surged over the chatting and the rattle of the cups and spoons, it was the sound of spotted goats clambering in a rush over a land of burnt hills, the couple at the next table stopped talking and froze with blank stares, as if reality had become naked and nothing remained except the silent spinning of atoms and molecules, it was a flapping of wings over blue and white waves, a sparkle of sun on the rocks, we heard the sound of the footsteps of the nomadic waters on slabs the color of embers, we saw a butterfly land on the cashier’s head, open its wings of flame and shatter into reflections, we touched the thoughts we thought and saw the words we said, and then the clatter of the spoons returned, the tide swelled, the people came and went, but you were on the edge of the cliff, the bay was a broad smile, and above, the light and the wind conspired : Psyche blew across your forehead.

The price of privilege is the moral duty to act when one sees another person treated unfairly. And the least that a person in the dominant caste can do is not make the pain any worse. If each of us could truly see and connect with the humanity of the person in front of us, search for that key that opens the door to whatever we may have in common, whether cosplay or Star Trek, or the loss of a parent, it could begin to affect how we see the world and others in it. Perhaps change the way we hire or even vote. Each time a person reaches across caste and makes a connection, it helps to break the back of caste. Multiplied by millions in a given day, it becomes the flap of a butterfly wing that shifts the air and builds to a hurricane across an ocean. With our current ruptures, it is not enough to not be racist or sexist. Our times call for being pro-African American, pro-woman, pro-Latino, pro-Asian, pro-Indigenous, pro-humanity in all its manifestations. In our era, it is not enough to be tolerant.

It's a theory," Roald said. "Multiple universes, maybe. Parallel timelines. The idea that every possibility actually exists and that the life we're living is only one of them. There's also the famous butterfly effect. It's chaos theory, pretty heady stuff, but basically it says that a change in something as tiny as the flap of a butterfly's wings can eventually affect the path and strength of something as huge as a hurricane. In other words, if you could keep the butterfly from flying at a certain time and place, you might prevent a hurricane>

The butterflies flapped their wings again, and it felt good. Exciting. Starting something new. After the summer, she had thought she might never have that feeling again - the chances seemed so impossibly stacked against her. As Marlene shampooed her hair, for some reason she thought of Remus. A few times, lately, she had thought of talking to him. She felt guilty; Remus had always been such a troubled figure, so brave and strong and yet for some reason so repressed and locked down. Bursting with emotions but apparently unable to express any of them. And now they all knew why, she felt so sorry for him. She’d wanted to say something, on their way back from healing classes, which was the only time they were alone, usually. She’d wait for an empty corridor and stop and turn to him and say, very quietly, “Me too, Remus. You aren’t alone.

This series tells the story of a Butterfly Effect. Back when Fabian was a teenager in Brussels in the 1990s, he had an idea. Because of that idea some people in Montreal eventually started to behave differently. As a consequence, other people down in the San Fernando Valley started behaving differently, and so on. For a year, I´ve been tracing Fabian’s Butterfly Effect. If I kept going, tracing consequence through to consequence, where might I end up? To give you an idea of the places where I do end up, by the end of episode 2, a man in Norway will be paying some women to set fire to his stamp collection. By the end of episode 4, a child in Oklahoma will be forced to move to the edge of town. By the end of episode 5, a man will lose his life. But first, let’s go back to the flap of the butterfly’s wings: Fabian, a teenager in Brussels.

Now I don't know anything. I don't know who I'm supposed to be in my new world. I keep trying to pinpoint the moment when everything changed. […] So, if I could change one moment, which one would I pick? And would I get the results I want? Would I still be Maddy? […] Chaos theory says that even a small change in initial conditions can lead to wildly unpredictable results. A butterfly flaps her wings now and a hurricane forms in the future. Still. I think if I could just find the moment, I could take it apart piece by piece, molecule by molecule, until I got down to the atomic level, until I got to the part that was inviolate and essential. If I could take it apart and understand it then maybe I could make just exactly the right change. […] I could understand how I came to be sitting on this roof at the beginning and at the end of everything.

In 1963, the chaos theorist Edward Lorenz presented an often-referenced lecture entitled “Does the Flap of a Butterfly’s Wings in Brazil Set Off a Tornado in Texas?” Lorenz’s main point was that chaotic mathematical functions are very sensitive to initial conditions. Slight differences in initial conditions can lead to dramatically different results after many iterations. Lorenz believed that this sensitivity to slight differences in the beginning made it impossible to determine an answer to his question. Underlying Lorenz’s lecture was the assumption of determinism, that each initial condition can theoretically be traced as a cause of a final effect. This idea, called the “Butterfly Effect,” has been taken by the popularizers of chaos theory as a deep and wise truth. However, there is no scientific proof that such a cause and effect exists. There are no well-established mathematical models of reality that suggest such an effect. It is a statement of faith. It has as much scientific validity as statements about demons or God.

Dryness and the Dark Night”:2 A certain scientist devoted his life to developing a strain of butterfly that would be the most beautiful combination of colors ever seen on this planet. After years of experimentation, he was certain that he had a cocoon that would produce his genetic masterpiece. On the day that the butterfly was expected to emerge, he gathered together his entire staff. All waited breathlessly as the creature began to work its way out of the cocoon. It disengaged its right wing, its body, and most of its left wing. Just as the staff were ready to cheer and pass the champagne and cigars, they saw with horror that the extremity of the left wing of the butterfly was stuck in the mouth of the cocoon. The creature was desperately flapping its other wing to free itself. As it labored, it grew more and more exhausted. Each new effort seemed more difficult, and the intervals between efforts grew longer. At last the scientist, unable to bear the tension, took a scalpel and cut a tiny section from the mouth of the cocoon. With one final burst of strength, the butterfly fell free onto the laboratory table. Everybody cheered and reached for the cigars and the champagne. Then silence again descended on the room. Although the butterfly was free, it could not fly. . . The struggle to escape from the cocoon is nature’s way of forcing blood to the extremities of a butterfly’s wings so that when it emerges from the cocoon it can enjoy its new life and fly to its heart’s content. In seeking to save the creature’s life, the scientist had truncated its capacity to function. A butterfly that cannot fly is a contradiction in terms. This is a mistake that God is not going to make. The image of God watching Anthony has to be understood. God holds back his infinite mercy from rushing to the rescue when we are in temptation and difficulties. He will not actively intervene because the struggle is opening and preparing every recess of our being for the divine energy of grace. God is transforming us so that we can enjoy the divine life to the full once it has been established. If the divine help comes too soon, before the work of purification and healing has been accomplished, it may frustrate our ultimate ability to live the divine life.

The ingenious creativity of thought of mind comes at your lowest darkest point of life. Just like I have the tower's densities of being struck by their lightning… that pulls on me constantly into their constellations, yet that makes me reflect on the extraordinary level, or so I think. I always have to be one step ahead of them! You never know where they are at… they could be in the barn for all I know! Up to this point, I have never had anyone tell me what he or she truly thinks about me that goes for appearance, personality, or anything. So, if I would have to describe myself this is what I would say. I would have to say that I find my eyes to be the most striking thing about myself, at least that's what she said- what she has told me… the first time I met her. Oh- finely things were looking up for me when I met her. She said that my light blue eyes tell the stories of my life. You can see the emotional- feelings when gazing into them, or at least that is what she made me believe. So, we got a new reject in class this week named Maiara, she is a transfer student; I liked her as soon as I saw her, she is wild, sweet, and outstandingly suggestive! She was what I was looking for and everything I needed. There was a glowing connection at first sight on both of our faces. The look of shock and surprise from both of us at that moment was dreamlike! Our eyes were fixated on each other the first time in the tiny room, she was like a love dove that flapped her wings my way, I knew, at last, I had someone that would brighten my drab cell for me. She came in there with a breath of fresh air; she is the hope I needed. Maiara- Hi everyone…! The others groaned their welcomes in false enthusiasm, one even yawned loudly. So, who are you? She walked up to me and bent a little into me in front of my desk? Nevaeh! I am shrieking said with butterflies like jitters. Then she touched my hair, and brushed my chin and lower lip with her soft fingertips!

It is often said that small decisions can nudge events one way or another, setting off a chain of reactions that ends in a spectacular result. A butterfly flaps its wings in China, and suddenly there’s a hole in the moon, or the Universe explodes. Some people call this the Butterfly Effect. Some people don’t.

But to me, butterflies were slightly sneaky; all they were were moths in embroidered jackets. And, yes, moths were creepy and their flapping wings made a nasty, papery sound--but at least they were honest

You’ve probably heard of the “butterfly effect.” This is a famous proposition of chaos theory, which says that when a butterfly flaps its wings in South America, it can set off a chain of events that ends up causing a typhoon in Southeast Asia. The truth is, you create your own butterfly effect, whether you know it or not, and you do it all the time. One of my favorite butterfly-effect stories is the film It’s a Wonderful Life. A small-town businessman named George Bailey reaches the edge of despair, and decides his life has no meaning and makes no difference. On the brink of suicide, he’s visited by an angel improbably named Clarence, who walks George through an experience of what the world would look like if he had never been born. (Which is exactly why we quoted a great line of Clarence’s for the epigraph of the last chapter, “The Ripple Effect.”) George gets quite an eyeful. And so would you, if you had a Clarence come along and take you on the same tour of your life. But outside Hollywood, there’s no Clarence to provide that clarity. It’s something we need to learn to see with our own eyes.

It was bizarre. Not at all like the soft and gentle flapping of butterflies' wings people spoke of- no, no, no. More like pterodactyls swooping and clipping her heart with every pass. Actually, maybe bizarre was the wrong word. Terrifying was more like it.

Counterfactuals highlight how radically open the possibilities once were and how easily our best-laid plans can be blown away by flapping butterfly wings. Immersion in what-if history can give us a visceral feeling for Taleb’s vision of radical indeterminacy.

So much depended upon the daft schedule of Trenitalia and the unions so imbued with whimsy and given to strikes. In theory, Trenitalia, the national corporation responsible for rail travel in Italy, is organized, codified, simple, and comprehensible. In actual lived experience, however, Trenitalia is chaotic, disordered, complex, and arcane. I’m sure there are some who understand the great mysterious force that is Trenitalia; the fascist conduttori, for one, and the persons who wrote Trenitalia’s adulatory Wikipedia entry, for another. To my thinking, the logic of Trenitalia was the worst kind of Italian disregard for rules. Even the Trenitalia website appears to have been created by workers who have a slender understanding of how humans think. It reads like it was written in Cyborg, fed through Google Translate into Italian, and slapped on to a webpage. More than one time, I’ve sat in the wrong Trenitalia car, taken the wrong train, or bought an online ticket for a trip other than the one I’d intended to take. And all this even before the trains mysteriously stop running because of a sciopero bianco, a work-to-rule strike, otherwise known as an “Italian strike,” when workers register protest by doing no more work than is mandated by their employment contracts. A butterfly flaps its wings in Chioggia, and a train running to Siena freezes on its tracks, such is the indescribable strangeness of Trenitalia. It’s a fascist adage: “Say what you like about Mussolini, but at least the trains run on time.” This was true neither in Mussolini’s day nor today. Trains exist and there are many, which makes Italy already superior to the car-logged, rail-beleaguered United States, but don’t set your watch by them. However predictable, Trenitalia’s inconstancy is an issue when you’re planning a perfectly orchestrated murder from 4,000 miles away. I raise the bureaucratic specter of Trenitalia because much of the success of Marco’s murder rested upon it. The remainder hinged on my skill with knives.

How will the world be different and better when you’re gone? What mark will you have made? What influence will you have caused? They say that a butterfly flapping its wings in Africa can cause a hurricane in Florida; well, what hurricanes will you leave in your wake?

Worriedly, she splayed her hand over it. This wasn’t a mere case of nerves, she knew. And it certainly wasn’t as tame as butterflies. No, indeed, for the spasms were escalating in intensity as the seconds ticked by. If the sensation could be likened to any winged creatures, flapping about inside her stomach, then they were large, rapacious flesh-eaters. Vultures, she decided. She had vultures inside her stomach and it was all his fault.

But to me, butterflies were slightly sneaky; all they were, were moths in embroidered jackets. And, yes, moths were creepy and their flapping wings made a nasty, papery sound – but at least they were honest; they were brown, they were dull, they were stupid (flying into flames at the drop of a hat). All in all, they hadn’t much going for them but they didn’t pretend to be anything other than what they were.

even the smallest act can have big consequences, like a butterfly flapping its wings on one side of the world can set off a chain of events resulting in a hurricane on the other side of the world.

If each of us could truly see and connect with the humanity of the person in front of us, search for that key that opens the door to whatever we may have in common, whether cosplay or Star Trek or the loss of a parent, it could begin to affect how we see the world and others in it, perhaps change the way we hire or even vote. Each time a person reaches across caste and makes a connection, it helps to break the back of caste. Multiplied by millions in a given day, it becomes the flap of a butterfly wing that shifts the air and builds to a hurricane across an ocean.

Each time a person reaches across caste and makes a connection, it helps to break the back of caste. Multiplied by millions in a given day, it becomes the flap of a butterfly wing that shifts the air and builds to a hurricane across an ocean.

Katherine was not nervous. She could not feel what seemed like hundreds of tiny butterfly wings flapping in her stomach. And she had certainly not had trouble sleeping last night or forking down her breakfast that morning due to said butterflies.

I feel like a carefree, beautiful butterfly!” Gushes George. Albert rolls his eyes. “There ain’t many butterflies in Blackpool, George. You might have to settle for a seagull.” “Alright,” says George, “I feel like a seagull. A big handsome seagull, flapping its wings and sailing off into the air!” As if on cue, a flock of seagulls hovering overhead barks loudly.

As for algorithms, they are not predictions, nor some kind of magic, nor reading stars and horoscopes, nor any of the superstitions, but rather they are something else, more scientific than all our sciences. Just give them the basic information, and once they have identified what is required, follow it, they put into your hands the identity that it does not know about itself, in the form of graphs on the imaginary timeline, its feelings, attitudes, psychological fluctuations, thoughts, everything about it, with astonishing accuracy, as well as general expectations. They have predicted everything accurately, not just human emotions, though these are the most serious things that they have presented. Before they could connect them in the form of supercomputer systems, they were giving results, in a primitive way, as if they were a magic crystal from the centuries of darkness, they soon discovered that magic does not exist in them, but rather they are a crystal made of a huge number of tiny optical fibers, made of a material that there is no equal to it on earth. Somehow, they kept inside them all the cosmic events, everything, from the motions of galaxies, and explosions, to the flapping of the wings of a butterfly, linked together by non-mathematical equations, something we do not know, incomprehensible symbols, they could not decipher, but they were able to interpret their sequence of results as algorithms.

Then all events will become for you, a past that has passed and ended, and their occurrence is inevitable unless you intervene to change them, and manipulate them, but first, you need to know what their new shape will look like, and most importantly, where and how powerful will be the needed change to bring about the required change, in order to reset the scene, rearrange the occurrence of events, and the consequences of changing the hierarchy of their intersection. If you kill a butterfly, it will not flap its wings in the next hour, and what may result from this negligible change, may be the end of all humanity, or the occurrence of a horrific massacre, in which millions of people are killed without sin, except that they are religious, or farmers, or those with longer noses, just like holistically. He is on a date with the answer as the Alpha headquarters have proof of this.

Flower in love The flower to the butterfly, Where do you always come from? Why do you always fly? And where do your wings get these colourful patterns from? She flew away without any reply, For she had a known flower to kiss, And his yesterday’s queries to reply, And then offer him a passionate kiss, There, poised on the flower that she knew, She spread her wings over its petals, It was a feeling that the flower knew, As the butterfly’s colours kissed its petals, Under the cover of her wings, They romanced in the light of love, And what a wonder it became to see a flower kissed by open butterfly wings, The symbol of two conflict free beings in total love, Beauty pressed over beauty, and covered in love, As the sunlight enveloped them in the shimmer of the pure light, The flower fell in love and the butterfly experienced love, And then it flew in the direction of the light, And I watched her flapping her wings hurriedly, As she shed her dust of colourful beauty over the flower in love, She became a part of this pure light almost hurriedly, And now it is the permanent delight for the light kissed flower, who too finally experienced love!

They say that a butterfly flapping its wings in Africa can cause a hurricane in Florida; well, what hurricanes will you leave in your wake?

The butterfly effect is the idea that small things can have non-linear impacts on a complex system. The concept is imagined with a butterfly flapping its wings in the Amazon Forest and causing a typhoon in the Pacific. Imagine the butterfly effect applied to your actions. A small act of kindness in your neighborhood or city gaining strength and spreading to benefit the many. Perhaps, that thought will make you think twice in moments of weakness.

This sense of being wronged is a simple awareness problem. We need to remember that all things are guided by reason—but that it is a vast and universal reason that we cannot always see. That the surprise hurricane was the result of a butterfly flapping its wings a hemisphere away or that misfortune we have experienced is simply the prelude to a pleasant and enviable future.

A butterfly flitted by the window, lackadaisically and languidly gliding, unaware of its beauty. Following the insect with his eyes, Danny felt a moment of peace, watching the sunlight reflecting off its purple wings, luminescent with every flap. The world is full of magical things, patiently waiting for our senses to sharpen.

Everything in existence matters — all the pieces of the puzzle are important whether great or small, the flap of a butterfly wing affects all." -Shireen Violett

Every breath we take from the air Takes oxygen from an insect’s lungs mid-prayer And every exhalation does loudly declare That in the currency of life, we’re millionaires. A butterfly flapped it’s wings and Rome fell A passerby’s whistle cracked the liberty bell And I dare urge the daring not to yell Lest we so bid a skyscraper a rough farewell. A snake’s tongue slithered and man did sin Let me tell you how the waves from a shark’s fin Did set the tides on D-Day and let the allies win; Chance and destiny are identical twins. A word was spoken and the earth created Another phrase and the future was dictated And so every action must be carefully weighted We just never know how things are interrelated.

We have to weigh every decision, because a butterfly flapping its wings in Nova Scotia could cause a hurricane in Guam. Or, as Homer Simpson taught us, if you kill a mosquito in dinosaur times, Ned Flanders might become the unquestioned lord and master of the universe.

This is Lorenz’s famous (and widely misunderstood) butterfly effect: a flap of a butterfly’s wing can cause a hurricane a month later, halfway round the world. If you think that sounds implausible, I don’t blame you. It’s true, but only in a very special sense. The main potential source of misunderstanding is the word ‘cause’. It’s hard to see how the tiny amount of energy in the flap of a wing can create the huge energy in a hurricane. The answer is, it doesn’t. The energy in the hurricane doesn’t come from the flap: it’s redistributed from elsewhere, when the flap interacts with the rest of the otherwise unchanged weather system. After the flap, we don’t get exactly the same weather as before except for an extra hurricane. Instead, the entire pattern of weather changes, worldwide. At first the change is small, but it grows – not in energy, but in difference from what it would otherwise have been. And that difference rapidly becomes large and unpredictable. If the butterfly had flapped its wings two seconds later, it might have ‘caused’ a tornado in the Philippines instead, compensated for by snowstorms over Siberia. Or a month of settled weather in the Sahara, for that matter.

You really didn’t see me trying to push him away?” “You did?” Darren scratches along his jawline. “I guess I was too angry to notice that.” “You were?” So it was more than awkwardness. He was angry. The butterflies are back, flapping their stupid little wings in my chest. He nods and looks away from me, eyes focused past me to the sky as it wanes into a deep-blue blanket dotted with pulsing stars. Bells from a church ring out in the distance. “I’m glad you chose to come with us,” he says, still looking out over the black sea. With a sigh, I grasp the railing and follow his gaze. “Me too.

The dance took place on a viewpoint level of Tower Four. Each hour, the whole floor would make a single revolution, so couples at tables could see both the city and the ocean. This was by far its lowest-tech feature. The Synth-Bio Club had engineered all manner of plants and animals just for the occasion: grabby little tentacular vines that climbed up the walls, twirling maple keys that danced and spun in the air like pixies and spiralled up from whatever surface they touched, butterflies that dampened signal by flapping their Faraday wings. None of the students really noticed. They were too busy miming anal on the dance floor.

A simple flap of a butterfly's wings can change the course of your destiny forever.

A sundry of generational defining events foment a reverberating resonance that assists us communicate with one another. No breath we take stands alone; no breath we exhale remains independent from our past breathing cycles. We are similar to a massive sponge collecting electrical impulses that fire our internal generators. Each gulp of air that we take fills us with new experiences; each breath builds upon billions of our prior sense impressions. Each happening in our orbit bonds us with a hodgepodge of preexisting mental fragments to produce our current personality. Each of our independent decisions and discrete actions we correlate with the external physical environment and interdependent social relationships. Our personal actions are interrelated with our cultural milieu. Just as a butterfly flapping its wings in a rainforest can contribute to formation of a hurricane, our separate and joint actions operate to shape the environment, and in turn, the evolving environment continues to mold us.

He has done this the way the fabled butterfly does it, as its wing-flapping sets off revolution.

History has no course. It thrashes and staggers, swivels and twists, but never heads one way for long. Humans who get caught up in it try to give it destinations. But we all pull in different directions, heading for different targets, and tend to cancel each other's influence out. When trends last for a short spell, we sometimes ascribe them to "men of destiny" or "history makers", or to great movements -- collectively heroic or myopic - or to immense, impersonal forces or laws of social development or economic change: class struggle, for instance, or "progress" or "development" or some other form of History with a capital H. But usually some undetectably random event is responsible for initiating big change. History is a system reminiscent of the weather: the flap of a butterfly's wings can stir up a storm.

She stopped to inspect some of the blossoms on the almond trees and watched the butterflies flap tiny wings from the bushes to the skies. Oh, to have such freedom. Like a bird, they were not confined to the king's palaces or a specific set of rooms. If she thought on it overmuch, she had to admit that in her new life she felt more like a bird caged than one set free. And she missed her family. Not Mordecai, for she saw him often, but her cousins, their wives, the children. Especially the children. How long had it been since she had chased Isha through the house and taught the children of Noah! She walked past the almond trees, forcing her mind to ponder the beauty around her. Gratitude was a better choice than lonely complaints.

The Transformation There was a pinky-healthy butterfly , Which, as yet, could not fly, Nor could it flap its wings, Cause it hadn’t been thru’ Larva, Pupa and things! The ‘other thing’ is termed as ‘Transformation’, An Innovative Change from erstwhile formation. For, the butterfly as yet was only an egg. In its Life journey, It was at its first leg. Through its life cycle all formations, Or changes are physical, without incarnation, Yet when it will blossom into a butterfly, Colours get added to all stages that were silly! For, it gets access to due intellect, @ divinity of God, omnipresent, With His blessings, intelligence is born, So as to make life cycle worthy some. So, helps a butterfly for colorful effects to learn, In its handling, by maintaining a delicate concern, Also, helps a butterfly in flower’s progenation, And children’s amusement @ no intervention The divine education is what you aspire, Believes ‘Priya’ as in a Gurukul one perseveres, A worthy place to earn blessings dear, And impacts, which you will lifelong admire! © 2016, Priyavrat Thareja At .thareja (dot) com/2016/07/28/the-transformation/#more-554

The flapping of a butterfly's wings in the rain forest can alter a hurricane hundreds of miles in the distance. Isn't it amazing that something so small can change the outcome of another thing so far away?

They say if a butterfly flaps its wings in the Amazonian rain forest, it can change the weather half a world away. Chaos theory. What it means is that everything that happens in this moment is an accumulation of everything that’s come before it. Every breath. Every thought. There is no innocent action. Some actions end up having the force of a tempest. Their impact cannot be missed. Others are the blink of an eye. Passing by unnoticed. Perhaps only God knows which is which All I know is that you can think that what you’ve done is only the flap of a butterfly wing, when its really a thunderclap. And both can result in a hurricane

That day, on the flight from Hobart to Sydney, I was the butterfly. Actually, I was the less poetic seagull. That seems more apt. I walked through that plane squawking my predictions, flapping my wings, and my actions had consequences, which had consequences, which had consequences. I was an agent of chaos.