“
Luke used to give me butterflies. Noah spawned mutant pterodactyls.
”
”
Katie McGarry (Pushing the Limits (Pushing the Limits, #1))
“
Folded in my arms you're a butterfly in reverse
you're giving up your wings and inheriting my curse
you're letting go of
me
you're letting go
”
”
Maggie Stiefvater (Shiver (The Wolves of Mercy Falls, #1))
“
Butterfly.
What a beautiful word
What a delicate creature.
Delicate like the cruel words that flow right out of your mouths and the food that flies right out of your hands…
Does it make you feel better?
Does it make you feel good ?
Does picking on a girl make you more of a man?
Well, I’m standing up for myself
Like I should have done before
I’m not putting up with your Butterfly anymore."
(Kiersten slides the sack off her wrist and opens it, pulling out a handful of hand-made butterflies. She takes the microphone out of the stand and begins walking down the stairs as she continues speaking.)
“I’d like to extend to others what others have extended to me.”
(She walks up to Mrs. Brill first and holds out a butterfly)
“Butterfly you, Mrs. Brill.”
(Mrs. Brill smiles at her and takes the butterfly out of her hands. Lake laughs out loud and I have to nudge her to get her to be quiet. Kiersten walks around the room, passing out butterflies to several of the students, including the three from the lunchroom.)
“Butterfly you, Mark.
Butterfly you, Brendan.
Butterfly you, Colby.”
(When she finishes passing out the butterflies, she walks back onto the stage and places the microphone back into the stand.)
“I have one thing to say to you
And I’m not referring to the bullies
Or the ones they pursue.
I’m referring to those of you that just stand by
The ones who don’t take up for those of us that cry
Those of you who just…turn a blind eye.
After all it’s not you it’s happening to
You aren’t the one being bullied
And you aren’t the one being rude
It isn’t your hand that’s throwing the food
But…it is your mouth not speaking up
It is your feet not taking a stand
It is your arm not lending a hand
It is your heart
Not giving a damn.
So take up for yourself
Take up for your friends
I challenge you to be someone
Who doesn’t give in.
Don’t give in.
Don’t let them win.
”
”
Colleen Hoover (Point of Retreat (Slammed, #2))
“
If I wanted death, Edward would give it to me. Because we both understand that it isn't death that we fear. It's living.
”
”
Laurell K. Hamilton (Obsidian Butterfly (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter, #9))
“
On bad days I talk to Death constantly, not about suicide because honestly that's not dramatic enough. Most of us love the stage and suicide is definitely your last performance and being addicted to the stage, suicide was never an option - plus people get to look you over and stare at your fatty bits and you can't cross your legs to give that flattering thigh angle and that's depressing. So we talk. She says things no one else seems to come up with, like let's have a hotdog and then it's like nothing's impossible.
She told me once there is a part of her in everyone, though Neil believes I'm more Delirium than Tori, and Death taught me to accept that, you know, wear your butterflies with pride. And when I do accept that, I know Death is somewhere inside of me. She was the kind of girl all the girls wanted to be, I believe, because of her acceptance of "what is." She keeps reminding me there is change in the "what is" but change cannot be made till you accept the "what is.
”
”
Tori Amos (Death: The High Cost of Living)
“
Mom is calculated, logical, business-minded; kind but very, very direct. Makes you better by giving you these little pointers but doesn’t baby you. My dad is a Chatty Cathy, the social butterfly; friendly; knows everybody in the whole world by six degrees; tells me that every performance is the greatest he’s ever seen, every new outfit is the coolest. Constant cheerleader. It’s cool to have pie-in-the-sky Dad, down-to-earth Mom.
”
”
Taylor Swift (Taylor Swift Songbook: Guitar Recorded Versions)
“
A pretty girl with butterfly clips in her dreadlocks put her hand on his arm. “You were amazing,” she told him, her voice fluting. “You have the reflexes of a striking snake. You should be a stuntman. Really, with your cheekbones, you should be an actor. A lot of people are looking for someone as pretty as you who’d do his own stunts.”
Alec threw Magnus a terrified and beseeching look. Magnus took pity on him, putting a hand on the small of Alec’s back and leaning against him. His attitude and the glance he shot at the girl clearly communicated my date.
“No offence,” said the girl, rapidly removing her hand so she could dig in her bag. “Let me give you my card. I work in a talent agency. You could be a star.”
“He’s foreign,” Magnus told the girl. “He doesn’t have a social security number. You can’t hire him.”
The girl regarded Alec’s bowed head wistfully. “That’s a shame. He could be huge. Those eyes!”
“I realize he’s a knockout,” Magnus said. “But I am afraid I have to whisk him away. He is wanted by Interpol.”
Alec shot him a strange look. “Interpol?”
Magnus shrugged.
“Knockout?” Alec said.
Magnus raised an eyebrow at him. “You had to know I thought so. Why else would I agree to go on a date with you?
”
”
Cassandra Clare (The Course of True Love [and First Dates] (The Bane Chronicles, #10))
“
I believe in forever, and that’s what you and I are. We define eternity. This may sound cheesy, but you make me go there. You give me butterflies, Emily Cooper. I’ve never had that before, and I don’t want to let that go for anything. Ever. I asked you once to crash with me, and you did. Now... I’m asking you to take the full ride. Walk with me the rest of the way until we’re old, sitting in our rocking chairs and watching our sugar-high grandchildren play in our yard. I’ve seen this world a million times over, but I’ve never seen it with you by my side. I want you, no, I need you to be my wife. I need to wake up every morning knowing you’re Mrs. Emily Michelle Blake.” He paused, and Emily could see his eyes misting over. “Please. Take this last step with me.
”
”
Gail McHugh (Pulse (Collide, #2))
“
But that was the first thing I had to learn about her, and maybe the hardest I’ve ever learned about anything—that she is her own, and what she gives me is of her choosing, and the more precious because of it. Sometimes a butterfly will come to sit in your open palm, but if you close your hand, one way or the other, it—and its choice to be there—are gone.
”
”
Barbara Hambly (Dragonsbane (Winterlands, #1))
“
Give me the purple smoke, rising higher and higher into my brain until I dance with the purple butterflies.” -Girl with the violet eyes.
”
”
Rochelle H. Ragnarok (The Boy with the Koi Tattoo (Boys in Love #2))
“
I’m too in love with my life
to be spilling all over the floor
for the next man
who gives me butterflies
when I could look in the mirror
and take my own breath away
”
”
Rupi Kaur (Home Body)
“
Seeing David was a full-body experience. I felt heavy and light at the same time. He gives me butterflies, but they aren’t butterflies. They’re bigger and darker and scarier, like crows. They’re dangerous. And did Bill ever give me butterflies?
”
”
Jessica Hawkins
“
It’s as if I’ve got a cocoon shriveled too tightly around my whole being. If I had my way, I’d exist like that butterfly, giving onlookers no easy way to bind me with a simple label.
”
”
Xiran Jay Zhao (Iron Widow (Iron Widow, #1))
“
Now, you and I both know that I’ll wait a lifetime for you – remember, Butterfly Weeds never give up – so take your time down there. And tonight, as you watch that big, orange sun disappear into the earth and your world gradually grow dark, I’ll help God turn on the stars, and I’ll wait for my dawn – when you return to me, Julia Stephens.
I love you, My Butterfly. You’ll always be my endless song.
Love always and forever,
Your one and only Butterfly Weed, Will
”
”
Laura Miller (Butterfly Weeds (Butterfly Weeds, #1))
“
But Rachel, every time you hurt, I hurt. Particularly, when I'm the cause of it. I've been an
insensitive jerk. But I need you to know that you are all I can think about. That you give me freaking
butterflies in my stomach. That when we're together I feel like...”
“Cloud walking.” Rachel grinned.
”
”
A. Meredith Walters (Cloud Walking (Find You in the Dark, #1.5))
“
Beautiful things are short-lived, he told me the first time we met. He made sure of that, and then he strove to give his Butterflies a strange breed of immortality
”
”
Dot Hutchison (The Butterfly Garden (The Collector, #1))
“
With a little cry, I slid my hand behind his neck and pulled him to me for a real kiss. The assembled people cheered, and I closed my eyes as the sound of pixy wings wreathed us. Give up? Leave? echoed in my thoughts as his lips met mine, holding both a promise and a desire. Never, I answered myself as we parted and, hands still connected, turned to those who meant most to us and were welcomed in between the pixy dust and the blue butterflies. THE BEGINNING
”
”
Kim Harrison (The Witch With No Name (The Hollows, #13))
“
Butterfly, I need you to get this,” he interrupted me firmly. “I’ve been in love with you since high school. I’ll be in love with you when you walk down the aisle to me, push out our first kid, our second, our third, cry when they go off to college, nag at them to give you grandbabies, and sit next to me on our couch in our pad in assisted living. I got that. I got my family. I got my brothers. I’m healed. You do not have to go off keyin’ my dad’s car. I’m good. Stop tryin’ to make me that way. You already got me there.
”
”
Kristen Ashley (Ride Steady (Chaos, #3))
“
I am filled with wonderings, questions and doubt,
but of one thing I am certain: it will always be you
that gives flight to the butterflies inside me;
calm to the sea I have become
and hope to the darkness all around us.
It is you and it has always been you...
you.
”
”
Tyler Knott Gregson (Chasers of the Light: Poems from the Typewriter Series)
“
don't need no butterflies when you give me the whole damn zoo
”
”
hailee steinfeld
“
Having nothing left to fidget with, i rested against the counter and tried not to stare at Noah. But i wanted to. He had his jacket off and his black t-shirt fit him perfectly. Today, during lunch, Grace had tunred her nose up when she spotted the bottom of his tattoo on his right bicep. I'd silently agreed with Lila's comment-yum.
My inides had melted when Noah produced his wicked grinand gazed at me like i was naked. Luke used to give me butterflies. Noah spawned mutant pterodactyls.
”
”
Katie McGarry (Pushing the Limits (Pushing the Limits, #1))
“
Finding out about this . . . having it all come out . . . it would kill my mother.”
I shrugged. “Give it enough time and it’ll kill me too. Cowardice may be our natural state but it’s still a choice. Every day you know about the Garden and don’t call the police or let us go, you’re making that same choice again and again. It is what it is, Desmond. You just don’t get to pretend anymore.
”
”
Dot Hutchison (The Butterfly Garden (The Collector, #1))
“
I receive remarkable letters. They are opened for me, unfolded, and spread out before my eyes in a daily ritual that gives the arrival of the mail the character of a hushed and holy ceremony. I carefully read each letter myself. Some of them are serious in tone, discussing the meaning of life, invoking the supremacy of the soul, the mystery of every existence. And by a curious reversal, the people who focus most closely on these fundamental questions tend to be people I had known only superficially. Their small talk has masked hidden depths. Had I been blind and deaf, or does it take the harsh light of disaster to show a person's true nature?
Other letters simply relate the small events that punctuate the passage of time: roses picked at dusk, the laziness of a rainy Sunday, a child crying himself to sleep. Capturing the moment, these small slices of life, these small gusts of happiness, move me more deeply than all the rest. A couple of lines or eight pages, a Middle Eastern stamp or a suburban postmark... I hoard all these letters like treasure. One day I hope to fasten them end to end in a half-mile streamer, to float in the wind like a banner raised to the glory of friendship.
It will keep the vultures at bay.
”
”
Jean-Dominique Bauby (The Diving Bell and the Butterfly: A Memoir of Life in Death)
“
You have no effect on me with your gesture of Hippocrates refusing bric-a-brac from Artaxerxes. I dispense you from quieting me. Anyway, I'm sad. What would you have me tell you? Man is wicked, man is deformed; the butterfly has succeeded, man has missed. God failed on this animal. A crowd gives you nothing but a choice of ugliness. The first man you meet will be a wretch. 'Femme' rhymes with 'infâme', woman is infamous. Yes, I have the spleen, in addition to melancholy, with nostalgia, plus hypochondria, and I sneer, and I rage, and I yawn, and I'm tired, and I'm bored, and I'm tormented! Let God go to the Devil!
”
”
Victor Hugo (Les Misérables)
“
There is nothing out here...
it is all inside;
it is all in my head.
The things that happen do not exist
unless I give them meaning.
To be able to define everything
is where my greatest weakness lies.
To be able to feel
is the madness I need to make sense
of the things that strike me.
People strike me,
love strikes me
and everything else moves me
in such a way
that I could barely understand.
I feel,
and everything I feel is nothing;
nothing but an extension
of the mind
and
of the heart I was born with.
”
”
Robert M. Drake (Black Butterfly)
“
Why can’t I find a single human being that I connect with? My standards are not impossible. I want someone who makes me laugh. Who cares about what I do and what I say and what I think. I want to sit on the couch with someone in blissful, perfect, comfortable silence—pizza on the coffee table and my feet tucked under their thigh. I want someone to hand me the recipe section of the local paper while they read the headlines. I want to share all of my small, silly, silent moments. I want someone to give me butterflies.
”
”
B.K. Borison (Mixed Signals (Lovelight, #3))
“
If I could hold the whole world in my arms and hug it, to thank it for giving me life i would, but i can't i'm not big enough, i need help, from everyone.
By ig Oliver.
”
”
Ig Oliver (The Butterfly BeeLady and the Bee)
“
You give me butterflies when I thing about you
”
”
Toni Aleo (Face-Off at the Altar (Nashville Assassins, #8))
“
His eyes darkened in frustration.
"I'm tired of waiting, Thalia. I'm not a patient person. You have to know."
"What do you mean, Keal? You know I like Joss." I tried to move away again, but his hands on either side of me pinned me in. Keal's determination scared me.
"You know what we share is infinitely more powerful than...that. And you feel this between us, too," he growled. "You melt when I kiss you. You watch me when you think I'm unaware. You can't sleep unless I'm near. Tell me none of that is true."
I swallowed nervously and licked my lips. "No, that's all true."
"I promised your father I'd give you time, but I'm tired of waiting. Tired of watching Joss try and win your heart from me."
"Keal, I don't understand. Ho is joss keeping you from me, when you and I don't think of one another that way?
"Don't think--Thalia! You and I are lifemates.
”
”
Chanda Hahn (The Silver Siren (Iron Butterfly, #3))
“
We would never go shopping together or eat an entire cake while we complained about men. He'd never invite me over to his house for dinner or a barbecue. We'd never be lovers. But there was a very good chance that one of us would be the last person the other saw before we died. It wasn't friendship the way most people understood it, but it was friendship. There were several people I'd trust with my life, but there is no one else I'd trust with my death. Jean-Claude and even Richard would try to hold me alive out of love or something that passed for it. Even my family and other friends would fight to keep me alive. If I wanted death, Edward would give it to me. Because we both understand that it isn't death that we fear. It's living.
”
”
Laurell K. Hamilton (Obsidian Butterfly (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter, #9))
“
I think it’s time to go ahead and start, don’t you? We don’t want them to have enough time to make a trip back to shore with her.”
Galen swims to within an inch of my face. His lazy grin sends a thousand butterflies whipping up a tornado in my stomach. “Start what? The rescue, or the rest of our lives together?”
Just the words make my heart jump, let alone the look he gives me when he says it. We haven’t had much time to talk about what all this means for us, but at least I know we can be together. On our own terms, in our own time. Finally. “Both,” I breathe.
“This is not the time to be all mushy,” Rayna calls from below us. “I swear you two are expert time wasters. So inconsiderate.”
Galen winks at me and dives to his sister.
“Wait,” I call to him. He stops. “I just wanted to say, I like your big fin. I think it’s sexy.” Which is the truth. Now t’s more than double the size of any other Syrena. I know he’s self-conscious about it; he thinks it makes him stand out more. What Galen doesn’t realize is that he already stood out. He was already special. This new fin doesn’t change anything. Well, except for making me hotter for him than I already was.
“Really?” Galen says.
I nod and blow him a kiss. By his confused expression, he has no idea what I’m doing. My Syrena human ambassador still has a lot to learn about the intimate details of the human world. And I’ll be happy to assist him with that.
”
”
Anna Banks (Of Triton (The Syrena Legacy, #2))
“
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.
”
”
Deanna Raybourn (A Treacherous Curse (Veronica Speedwell, #3))
“
Elliot and I were more 'adult' about it all. We'd kiss hello and goodbye and we'd kiss as part of foreplay, but we wouldn't kiss just for the sake of it. not when we got together properly.
I would love to snog Jack Britcham. I would love to inhale the smell of him, feast in the scent of him, become intoxicated by him. And of course there is nothing wrong with looking at him. I would love to run my fingers over the lines of his body, touch him and see if I could absorb him through the pads of my fingers, have him enter my bloodstream and race through my veins. I would love to taste him. See if he tastes as good as he looks.
I don't know why he's got so far under my skin, but he has. And that's not a bad thing, I didn't think. It gives me something to look forward to, I suppose.
Loved-up saddo
”
”
Dorothy Koomson (The Woman He Loved Before)
“
I look over at the man in question and just the sight of him gives me butterflies. No, not butterflies. Butterflies don’t quite do the trembling in my gut justice. These are freaking pterodactyls!! Huge, bird-like creatures are flapping around in my stomach just by looking at him.
”
”
Devon Herrera (Dark Universe (The Universe Series #2))
“
At first, as the months went by, it was shameful to me when I would realize that without my consent, almost without my knowledge, something had made me happy. And then I learned to think, when those times would come, 'Well, go ahead. If you're happy, then be happy.' No big happiness came to me yet, but little happinessess did come, and they came from ordinary pleasures in ordinary things; the baby, sunlight, breezes, animals and birds, daily work, rest when I was tired, food, strands of fog in the hollows early in the morning, butterflies, flowers. The flowers didn't have to be dahlias and roses either, but just the weeds blooming in the fields, the daisies and the yarrow. I began to trust the world again, not to give me what I wanted, for I saw that it could not be trusted to do that, but to give unforeseen goods and pleasures that I had not thought to want.
”
”
Wendell Berry (Hannah Coulter)
“
Lord, so many things skitter through my mind, and I give chase to gather them and hold them up in a bunch to you, but they go this way and that while I go that way and this ... So, gather me up instead
and bless what eludes my grasp but not yours: trees and bees, fireflies and butterflies, roses and barbecues, and people ... Lord, the people ... bless the people: birthday people, giving birth people, being born people; conformed people,
dying people, dead people; hostaged people, banged up people, held down people; leader people, lonely people, limping people; hungry people,
surfeited
”
”
Ted Loder (Guerrillas Of Grace: Prayers For The Battle)
“
Poem of Thanks
Years later, long single,
I want to turn to his departed back,
and say, What gifts we had of each other!
What pleasure — confiding, open-eyed,
fainting with what we were allowed to stay up
late doing. And you couldn’t say,
could you, that the touch you had from me
was other than the touch of one
who could love for life — whether we were suited
or not — for life, like a sentence. And now that I
consider, the touch that I had from you
became not the touch of the long view, but like the
tolerant willingness of one
who is passing through. Colleague of sand
by moonlight — and by beach noonlight, once,
and of straw, salt bale in a barn, and mulch
inside a garden, between the rows — once-
partner of up against the wall in that tiny
bathroom with the lock that fluttered like a chrome
butterfly beside us, hip-height, the familiar
of our innocence, which was the ignorance
of what would be asked, what was required,
thank you for every hour. And I
accept your thanks, as if it were
a gift of yours, to give them — let’s part
equals, as we were in every bed, pure
equals of the earth.
”
”
Sharon Olds
“
You are giving me words to write a song and that's even better than butterflies.
”
”
Mr BlahBlah
“
You still give me butterflies.
”
”
Tan Redding (A Banquet Of Crumbs)
“
It gives me the crawling caterpillars in my stomach—not butterflies. I’m jealous of those free-flying bitches.
”
”
Raven Kennedy (Gild (The Plated Prisoner, #1))
“
i don’t need
fancy ways
and shiny things,
give me
slow hands,
honest eyes,
and full attention
with ease
…give me priceless things.
”
”
butterflies rising
“
there's this feeling when you look at me… i think maybe it’s love… how you actually give a damn about all the mess inside my head.
”
”
butterflies rising
“
give me love
that takes me wayward,
off beaten paths
and down country roads,
let’s stargaze,
we’re made for
so much more than plans
and picket fences
”
”
butterflies rising
“
The drought was the very worst
When the flowers that we'd grown together died of thirst
It was months and months of back and forth
You're still all over me like a wine-stained dress I can't wear anymore
There was nothing left to do
When the butterflies turned to dust that covered my whole room
So I punched a hole in the roof
Let the flood carry away all my memories and texts from you
6 years sober, I must admit
Just because you're clean don't mean you don't miss it
6 years older, I won't give in
Now that I'm clean I'm never gonna risk it.
”
”
EJR
“
But for now, I would be the happiest of men if I could just swallow the overflow of saliva that endlessly floods my mouth. Even before first light, I am already practicing sliding my tongue toward the rear of my palate in order to provoke a swallowing reaction. What is more, I have dedicated to my larynx the little packets of incense hanging on the wall, amulets brought back from Japan by pious globe-trotting friends. Just one of the stones in the thanksgiving monument erected by my circle of friends during their wanderings. In every corner of the world, the most diverse deities have been solicited in my name. I try to organize all this spiritual energy. If they tell me that candles have been burned for my sake in a Breton chapel, or that a mantra has been chanted in a Nepalese temple, I at once give each of the spirits invoked a precise task. A woman I know enlisted a Cameroon holy man to procure me the goodwill of Africa's gods: I have assigned him my right eye. For my hearing problems I rely on the relationship between my devout mother-in-law and the monks of a Bordeaux brotherhood. They regularly dedicate their prayers to me, and I occasionally steal into their abbey to hear their chants fly heavenward. So far the results have been unremarkable. But when seven brothers of the same order had their throats cut by Islamic fanatics, my ears hurt for several days. Yet all these lofty protections are merely clay ramparts, walls of sand, Maginot lines, compared to the small prayer my daughter, Céleste, sends up to her Lord every evening before she closes her eyes. Since we fall asleep at roughly the same hour, I set out for the kingdom of slumber with this wonderful talisman, which shields me from all harm.
”
”
Jean-Dominique Bauby (The Diving Bell and the Butterfly: A Memoir of Life in Death)
“
There was no point in anything. No pleasure in being good and clever either, if there was no one to praise and be proud of me. But that felt dangerously close to self-pity, and I would not give in to self-pity.
”
”
Fiona Mountain (Lady of the Butterflies)
“
There's a lot of pointing. A festival of pointing and at very close range to other people's eyes, given the width of the space. Also detracting from the exhibit's potential tranquility is the display cabinet of pinned specimens along one wall. I found this disturbing from the start. You don't see a whole lot of stuffed polar bears in the polar bear exhibit at the zoo, for instance. And butterflies have phenomenal vision so it's not like they can't see the mass crucifixion in their midst. I was offended on behalf of the butterflies and thus pleased with my offense. Let the empathizing begin! This volunteering thing was working already. I am a good person, hear me give!
”
”
Sloane Crosley (I Was Told There'd Be Cake: Essays)
“
You make me really happy, Alex, in ways I can’t explain,” he said. “You make me really happy, too, Rook,” she said. “One of the reasons I’m wearing butterflies tonight is to match the butterflies you give me when I think of you.
”
”
Chris Colfer (A Grimm Warning (The Land of Stories, #3))
“
God, Alex loved me.
He truly did. I just hadn't learned that time is elastic: it stretches and gives, far more graciously than it probably should, and then one day, when you least expect it, something simply ruptures, and you sheltered life is done.
”
”
Deidre Knight (Butterfly Tattoo)
“
little seeds, someday flowers…
today i will
be good to myself,
and tomorrow maybe
a little bit better,
until being good to me
is a little easier,
and maybe even someday
not so hard at all.
maybe these are just little seeds
but i'll keep giving them
touches of sunlight…
just a little hope here
and a little grace there
and a little more light in those
places holding all the fear,
and then maybe all these little seeds
just might grow until someday they
become flowers…
and then i will be made of flowers.
”
”
butterflies rising
“
He [Logan] wasn't wearing his baseball cap for once, and the day was bright, almost warm, so his face was bathed in a soft glow from the winter sun. Logan's normally shaded eyes looked a much lighter brown in the sun, and they crinkled up at the corners as he gave me an easy smile.
Are you deliberately screwing with me, sun? What's next? Is his smile going to sparkle as a bell-like “ding” chimes in the distance? Is a butterfly going to land on his shoulder? Give the boy a white horse and it's a wrap for poor Paige's heart.
”
”
Cara Lynn Shultz (The Dark World (Dark World, #1))
“
A Knock On The Door
They ask me if I've ever thought about the end of
the world, and I say, "Come in, come in, let me
give you some lunch, for God's sake." After a few
bites it's the afterlife they want to talk about.
"Ouch," I say, "did you see that grape leaf
skeletonizer?" Then they're talking about
redemption and the chosen few sitting right by
His side. "Doing what?" I ask. "Just sitting?" I
am surrounded by burned up zombies. "Let's
have some lemon chiffon pie I bought yesterday
at the 3 Dog Bakery." But they want to talk about
my soul. I'm getting drowsy and see butterflies
everywhere. "Would you gentlemen like to take a
nap, I know I would." They stand and back away
from me, out the door, walking toward my
neighbors, a black cloud over their heads and
they see nothing without end.
”
”
James Tate
“
Lollipops and raindrops
Sunflowers and sun-kissed daisies
Rolling surf and raging sea
Sailing ships and submarines
Old Glory and “purple mountain’s majesty”
Screaming guitar and lilting rhyme
Flight of fancy and high-steppin’ dances
Set free my mind to wander…
Imagine the ant’s marching journeys.
Fly, in my mind’s eye, on butterfly wings.
Roam the distant depths of space.
Unfurl tall sails and cross the ocean.
Pictures made just to enthrall
Creating images from my truth
Painting hopes and dreams on my canvas
Capturing, through my lens, the ephemeral
Let me ruminate ‘pon sensual darkness…
Tremble o’er Hollywood’s fluttering Gothics…
Ride the edge of my seat with the hero…
Weep with the heroine’s desperation.
Yet… more than all these things…
Give me words spun out masterfully…
Terms set out in meter and rhyme…
Phrases bent to rattle the soul…
Prose that always miraculously inspires me!
The trill runs up my spine, as I recall…
A touch… a caress…a whispered kiss…
Ebony eyes embracing my soul…
Two souls united in beat of hearts.
A butterfly flutter in my womb
My lover’s wonder o’er my swelling
The testament of our love given life
Newly laid in my lover’s arms
Luminous, sweet ebony eyes
Just so much like his father’s
A gaze of wonder and contentment
From my babe at mother’s breast
Words of the Divine set down for me
Faith, Hope, Love, and Charity
Grace, Mercy, and undeserved Salvation
“My Shepherd will supply my need”
These are the things that inspire me.
”
”
D. Denise Dianaty (My Life In Poetry)
“
I move like I'm gravity, like it's not a decision.
Standing on my toes, on the edge of the high dive, the water looks as clear and blue as the sky.
In my head there's the possibility that this moment isn't here yet, that maybe I'm not born. I could be an idea. Or I could be realized, and life is standing still. For this moment, the world has stopped.
I have a perfect balance. The wind moves around me. My heart is as light and bright as the sun. I am as light as a sparrow bone, and for one moment I am everything that can't be caught and held.
Then I'm passing through the air, turning, arms drawn in, toes pointed. My chin rests on my chest. I believe I have a chance at anything: one full revolution.
I spread my wings. I arch my back. I remember why swans are graceful, why someone would name this for something beautiful.
I think I'm touching the clouds. For a long time they keep me from breaking the blue. I don't hear the shattering surface. I belong behind this sky, all-silent and calm, and part of the world where butterflies live after they give up their feet and dream of flight. I can stay, if I pretend the fire in my chest doesn't burn, if I pretend the world is upside down, if I pretend water is the air I breathe.
”
”
Suzanne Marie Phillips (Chloe Doe)
“
No, let’s be fair,” I said. “Being a villain’s an option.”
“You did not say that,” Fox-mask said, incredulous, “It’s not an option at all.”
The girl in blue looked at Mrs. Yamada, “Ex-villain’s corrupting the kids, and you’re not stopping her?”
Mrs. Yamada was frowning at me.
“I’m going somewhere with this, honest,” I said.
“If you’re sure,” she said. “I can stop you at any time.”
“You can.”
I looked at the gathered kids. A few of the less successful butterfly catchers had drifted away and approached.
“I always hated the speeches when I was in school, the preaching in auditoriums, the one-note message. Stuff like saying drugs are bad. It’s wrong. Drugs are fantastic.”
“Um,” Fox-mask said.
Mrs. Yamada was glaring at me, but she hadn’t interrupted.
“People wouldn’t do them if they weren’t. They make you feel good, make your day brighter, give you energy-”
“Weaver,” Mrs. Yamada cut in.
“-until they don’t,” I said. “People hear the message that drugs are bad, that they’ll ruin your life if you do them once. And then you find out that isn’t exactly true because your friends did it and turned out okay, or you wind up trying something and you’re fine. So you try them, try them again. It isn’t a mind-shattering moment of horrible when you try that first drug. Or so I hear. It’s subtle, it creeps up on you, and you never really get a good, convincing reason to stop before it ruins your life beyond comprehension. I never went down that road, but I knew a fair number of people who did. People who worked for me, when I was a supervillain.
”
”
Wildbow (Worm (Parahumans, #1))
“
But it wasn't the photograph that caught her attention. It was what was tucked into the frame.
Dominic's eyes followed hers. And a tinge of color appeared in his cheeks.
Walking over, the butterflies skittering about her stomach, Sylvie reached out and touched the intricate little silhouette portrait of her own face. Her eyes lifted to Dominic's in-the-flesh face, which was currently much stiffer than that paper.
"Pet," he said. "She cut a couple of portraits in here one day when we were talking about Operation Cake. Yours and Mariana's."
"Yes. I saw Mariana's after you gave it to her." She ran her fingers around the paper contour of her plait, dropped her hand to the desk. "You didn't give me mine, though."
"No, I didn't."
"Because... we didn't get along? And you wanted to keep Pet's artwork?"
"I did want to have some of Pet's art." Dominic's jaw ticked. "And somewhere along the line, I wanted that one in particular."
Sylvie swallowed.
”
”
Lucy Parker (Battle Royal (Palace Insiders, #1))
“
One," said the recording secretary.
"Jesus wept," answered Leon promptly.
There was not a sound in the church. You could almost hear the butterflies pass. Father looked down and laid his lower lip in folds with his fingers, like he did sometimes when it wouldn't behave to suit him.
"Two," said the secretary after just a breath of pause.
Leon looked over the congregation easily and then fastened his eyes on Abram Saunders, the father of Absalom, and said reprovingly: "Give not sleep to thine eyes nor slumber to thine eyelids."
Abram straightened up suddenly and blinked in astonishment, while father held fast to his lip.
"Three," called the secretary hurriedly.
Leon shifted his gaze to Betsy Alton, who hadn't spoken to her next door neighbour in five years.
"Hatred stirreth up strife," he told her softly, "but love covereth all sins."
Things were so quiet it seemed as if the air would snap.
"Four."
The mild blue eyes travelled back to the men's side and settled on Isaac Thomas, a man too lazy to plow and sow land his father had left him. They were not so mild, and the voice was touched with command: "Go to the ant, thou sluggard, consider her ways and be wise."
Still that silence.
"Five," said the secretary hurriedly, as if he wished it were over. Back came the eyes to the women's side and past all question looked straight at Hannah Dover.
"As a jewel of gold in a swine's snout, so is a fair woman without discretion."
"Six," said the secretary and looked appealingly at father, whose face was filled with dismay.
Again Leon's eyes crossed the aisle and he looked directly at the man whom everybody in the community called "Stiff-necked Johnny."
I think he was rather proud of it, he worked so hard to keep them doing it.
"Lift not up your horn on high: speak not with a stiff neck," Leon commanded him.
Toward the door some one tittered.
"Seven," called the secretary hastily.
Leon glanced around the room.
"But how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity," he announced in delighted tones as if he had found it out by himself.
"Eight," called the secretary with something like a breath of relief.
Our angel boy never had looked so angelic, and he was beaming on the Princess.
"Thou art all fair, my love; there is no spot in thee," he told her.
Laddie would thrash him for that.
Instantly after, "Nine," he recited straight at Laddie: "I made a covenant with mine eyes; why then should I think upon a maid?"
More than one giggled that time.
"Ten!" came almost sharply.
Leon looked scared for the first time. He actually seemed to shiver. Maybe he realized at last that it was a pretty serious thing he was doing. When he spoke he said these words in the most surprised voice you ever heard: "I was almost in all evil in the midst of the congregation and assembly."
"Eleven."
Perhaps these words are in the Bible. They are not there to read the way Leon repeated them, for he put a short pause after the first name, and he glanced toward our father: "Jesus Christ, the SAME, yesterday, and to-day, and forever!"
Sure as you live my mother's shoulders shook.
"Twelve."
Suddenly Leon seemed to be forsaken. He surely shrank in size and appeared abused.
"When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up," he announced, and looked as happy over the ending as he had seemed forlorn at the beginning.
"Thirteen."
"The Lord is on my side; I will not fear; what can man do unto me?" inquired Leon of every one in the church. Then he soberly made a bow and walked to his seat.
”
”
Gene Stratton-Porter (Laddie: A True Blue Story (Library of Indiana Classics))
“
I felt my face going blank, my eyes going empty. For just an instant I let Marks see the gaping hole where my conscience was supposed to be. I didn't really mean to, but I couldn't seem to help it. Maybe I was more shaken up from the room and its survivors than I thought. It's the only excuse I can give.
Marks' face went from fading laughter to something like concern. He gave me cop eyes, but underneath that was an uncertainty that was almost fear.
"Smile, Lieutenant. It's a good day. No one died."
I watched the thought spill through his face. He understood exactly what I meant. You should never even hint to the police that you're willing to kill, but I was tired, and I still had to go back into the room. Fuck it.
Edward spoke in his own voice, low and empty, "And you wonder why I compete with you?
”
”
Laurell K. Hamilton (Obsidian Butterfly (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter, #9))
“
once upon a time, i met a flower. she was so innocent, yet so wise. she was glitter and wildness. softness and sweet fragrance. she was a flock of fireflies that danced through the forest and swam naked in moonlight. she was the first soul i bared myself to, only one i was completely honest with about the things that shamed me...we wandered through the world in a bubble of our own making, floating free, full of pastels so colorful, full of fairy dust, sunbeams, and feathers. we drew people towards us like sirens in the water, wanting what we had. but we fluttered away like butterflies hopping from lily pad to lily pad, giggling all the while. we told each other the real hard truth, and listened, and laughed and cried out our hearts. when i was going through a tough time, she once told me to pick a place, anywhere in the world, and she’d be there with me, even if she couldn't be...she was my flower. she taught me about generosity, about giving with deep trust that it would return somehow somewhere. and it always does. she taught me to love people for who they are, and to just let them be, in their own flower field. i met a flower. she taught me to live in love. to bloom, and listen. now i am alive, in love
”
”
D. Bodhi Smith
“
I have to give you your wedding present,” Marlboro Man said before I could ask where we were going. “I can’t wait a month before I give it to you.”
Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. “But…,” I stammered. “I haven’t gotten yours yet.”
Marlboro Man clasped my hand, continuing to look forward at the road. “Yes you have,” he said, bringing my hand to his lips and turning me to a pool of melted butter right in his big Ford truck.
”
”
Ree Drummond (The Pioneer Woman: Black Heels to Tractor Wheels)
“
Yeah," I said. "I think you're jealous."
"Of what?"
"That I can pass and you can't."
He opened his mouth and emotions flowed over his face like water; anger, humor, denial. He finally settled on a smile, but it wasn't a happy one. "You really are a bitch, aren't you?"
I nodded. "You don't pull on my chain and I won't pull on yours."
"Deal," he said. The smile flashed wider. "Now, allow me to escort your lily white ass to the dining room."
I shook my head. "Lead on, tall, dark, and studly, as long as I get to watch your ass while we walk down the hall."
"Only if you promise to tell me how you like the view."
I widened my eyes. "You mean give you a critique on your butt?"
He nodded and the smile looked happy now.
"Are you this big an egotist or just trying to embarrass me?"
"Guess."
"Both," I said.
The smile spread to a grin. "You are as smart as you look.
”
”
Laurell K. Hamilton (Obsidian Butterfly (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter, #9))
“
It is a gown, but one such as I have never seen before. It is composed mostly of the cloth she showed me, but there are strips of other material running through it, some diaphanous and others satiny, some patterned in butterfly wings, some felted wool. Dangling threads hang from torn edges, and a few pieces of thin fabric have been wadded up to give them a new texture. The swirling patchwork she has created is at once tattered and beautiful.
”
”
Holly Black (The Stolen Heir (The Stolen Heir Duology, #1))
“
We were never very demonstrative in our family; poor folk who toil and are full of cares are not so. It is not their way to protest what they already know. When my mother says to me “dear boy,” it means much more than when another uses it. I know well enough that the jar of whortleberries is the only one they have had for months, and that she has kept it for me; and the somewhat stale cakes that she gives me too. She must have got them cheap some time and put them all by for me. I sit by her bed, and through the window the chestnut trees in the beer garden opposite glow in brown and gold. I breathe deeply and say over to myself:—“You are at home, you are at home.” But a sense of strangeness will not leave me, I cannot feel at home amongst these things. There is my mother, there is my sister, there my case of butterflies, and there the mahogany piano—but I am not myself there. There is a distance, a veil between us.
”
”
Erich Maria Remarque (All Quiet on the Western Front)
“
Taking the ring from her, Sebastian slid it onto his own hand. His hands were so much larger that the circlet would only fit the tip of his smallest finger. Grasping her chin in an intractable hold, he glared into her eyes. “I’ll take your bet,” he said grimly. “I’m going to win it. And in three months, I’m going to put this back on your finger, and take you to bed, and do things to you that are outlawed in the civilized world.”
Evie’s resolve did not shield her from the heart-thumping alarm that any rational woman would feel upon hearing such an ominous statement. Nor did it prevent her knees from turning to jelly as he jerked her against his body and fitted his mouth to hers.
Her hands, suspended in mid-air, went to his head in a trembling butterfly descent. The texture of his hair, the locks so cool and thick on the surface, so warm and damp at the roots, was too alluring to resist. She slid her fingers into the gleaming golden layers and pulled him even closer, helplessly reveling in the urgent pressure of his mouth. Their tongues mated, slid, stroked, and with each slippery-sweet caress inside the joined cavern of their mouths, she felt a hot coiling deep in her belly… no, deeper than that… in the tightening, liquefying core where she had once taken his invading flesh. It shocked her to realize how much she wanted him there again. She whimpered as he pulled away from her, while frustration washed over them both.
“You didn’t say that I couldn’t kiss you,” Sebastian said, his eyes bright with devil-fire. “I’m going to kiss you as long and as often as I like, and you’re not to utter a word of protest. That’s the concession you’ll give in return for my celibacy. Damn you.”
Giving her no time either to agree or to object, he released her and strode to the door. “And now, if you’ll excuse me… I’m going to go kill Joss Bullard.
”
”
Lisa Kleypas (Devil in Winter (Wallflowers, #3))
“
My throat raw with emotion, I said, “I thought love was supposed to be weak knees and butterflies in your stomach and a terrible longing that could never be quenched.” Eeny shook her head, chuckled, came over and embraced me. “No, child,” she said gently, patting my back. “That’s romance. Romance is built on doubt. Love is solid. Constant. If you’re not careful, you might mistake it for bein’ boring because it’s so reliable. Love is warm and deep and comfortable, just right, so you float in it peacefully without ever being scalded or frozen, like a perfect, relaxing bubble bath. “But it’s also fierce and strong and demands all the best parts of you, the parts that are giving and honest and true. Love makes you a better person. It makes you want to be a better person. You know it’s love when you feel comfortable just as you are, when you feel seen and understood, when you know you could tell all your darkest truths and they’d be accepted without judgement.” Eeny pulled away and gently smoothed a hand over my hair. “Love isn’t butterflies, boo. It isn’t weak knees. It’s a pride of lions. It’s a pack of wolves. It’s ‘I’ve got your back even if it costs me my own life,’ because unlike romance that fizzles at the first sign of trouble, love will fight to the death. When it’s love, you’ll go to war to avenge even the slightest offense. And you’ll be justified. “Because of all the marvelous and terrible things we can experience in this life, love is the only one that will last beyond it.
”
”
J.T. Geissinger (Burn for You (Slow Burn, #1))
“
I love you, Emily. You'll always be my best friend. You'll always be my...Molly. You're the mother of my child. You and Noah have brought color to my empty canvas, light into my darkened life. Let's paint the full picture together and light up the sky sweets. I love you both more than anything. I believe in forever, and that's what you and I are. We define eternity. This may sound cheese, but you make me go there. You give me butterflies, Emily Cooper. I've never had that before, and I don't want to let that go for anything. Ever. I asked you once to crash with me, and you did. Now...I'm asking you to take the full ride. Walk with me the rest of the way until we're old, sitting in rocking chairs and watching our sugar-high grandchildren play in our yard. I've seen this world a million times over, but I've never seen it with you by my side. I want you, no, I need you to be my wife. I need to wake up every morning knowing you're Mrs. Emily Michelle Blake. Please. Take this last step with me.
”
”
Gail McHugh (Pulse (Collide, #2))
“
I glanced at Bernardo, but kept my gaze on the big man across the table. "What gives, Bernardo? He does talk, right?"
Bernardo nodded. "He talks."
I turned my full attention back to Olaf. "You're just not going to talk to me, is that it?"
He just glared at me.
"You think not hearing the dulcet sounds of your voice is some kind of punishment? Most men are such jabber mouths. Silence is nice for a change. Thanks for being so considerate, Olaf, baby." I made the last word into two very separate syllables.
"I am not your baby." The voice was deep and matched that vast chest. There was also a guttural accent underneath all that clear English, German maybe.
"It speaks. Be still my heart."
Olaf frowned. "I did not agree with your being included on this hunt. We do not need help from a woman, any woman."
"Well, Olaf, honey, you need help from someone because the three of you haven't come up with shit on the mutilations."
A flush of color crept up his neck into his face. "Do not call me that."
"What? Honey?"
He nodded.
"You prefer sweetheart, honeybun, pumpkin?"
The color spread from pink to red, and was getting darker. "Do not use terms of endearment to me. I am no one's sweetheart.
”
”
Laurell K. Hamilton (Obsidian Butterfly (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter, #9))
“
He Is Too Good To Be True!!
When I first meet you we were suppose to be friends
Who would of thought that I would love you in the end?
We talked and talked for months and months
Got to know each other in a way that no one would
I didn't want to give you my heart I was so scared that
You would tear it apart, but then I gradually let to commit the perfect crime
Cause you stole my heart with no intentions of giving it back
Now is the time for us to grow old together that is what you say
But I just cannot wait for that special day.
Every time that I'm with you I still get butterflies after all these months
You are so cute the way that you smile
Your eyes looking into mine makes me want to kiss you every time
The way that you hold me at night makes me feel like I am floating in the air
It all just feels so right to be next to every single second of the day
Your love lights up my life and when I am down it lights up the stars in the night.
I promise to love you in every way that I can and to be by your side in every way.
You just make me feel like the luckiest girl in the world to have you as a boyfriend and my best friend. From now until forever I will always love you
”
”
Angela Gutiérrez
“
Sonnet XL"
Green was the silence, wet was the light
the month of June trembled like a butterfly
and in the south dominion, from the sea and the stones,
Matilde, you traversed the midday.
You were loaded with ferrous flowers,
seaweeds that the south wind torments and forgets,
still white, shrivelled by the devouring salt,
your hands raised the stalks of sand.
I love your pure gifts, your skin of untouched rock,
your nails offered in the sun of your fingers,
your mouth spilt through all the joy,
but, for my house neighboring the abyss,
give me the tormented system of the silence,
the pavillion of the sea forgotten in the sand.
”
”
Pablo Neruda (100 Love Sonnets)
“
He looked behind me to Bernardo. "Can you think of anything else she needs to know?"
"Only that he brags about the rape and what he did to her."
"All right," I said, "you've both made your point. I only have one question."
Edward just looked at me expectantly, Bernardo said, "Shoot."
"If I kill another one of your backups, do I owe you another favor?"
"Not if he deserves it."
I dumped the bag on the doorsill. "Shit, Edward, if you keep putting me together with fucking crazies and I keep having to defend myself, I'll be owing you favors until we're in our graves."
Bernardo said, "You're serious. You really killed his last backup."
I glanced at him. "Yeah, I'm serious. And I want permission to off Olaf if he gets out of hand, without having to owe Edward another pound of flesh."
"Who'd you kill?" Bernardo asked.
"Harley," Edward said.
"Shit, really?"
I walked up to Edward, invading his space, trying to read past the blank blue of his eyes. "I want permission to kill Olaf if he gets out of hand, without owing you another favor."
"And if I don't give it?" he asked, voice low.
"Drive me to a hotel because I'm not staying in a house with a bragging rapist if I can't kill him."
Edward looked at me for a long slow moment, then gave a small nod. "Done, as long as he's in this house. Outside the house, play nice.
”
”
Laurell K. Hamilton (Obsidian Butterfly (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter, #9))
“
As a scientist, it is a strange thing for me to stand in front of you and declare that science has no answer. But really, science rarely gives us answers. Rather, science gives us the means by which we may ask more questions: it provides context, connection, and background. It compounds our curiosities. We may stick a pin through the thorax of a butterfly in order to stop its wings and allow us to examine it closely, but by doing so, we will never observe those very wings pressing against the skin of the air and fluttering away. We will never know which direction that butterfly might choose to go, or what it would seek to do next. Science can only teach us so much. You
”
”
Kelly Barnhill (When Women Were Dragons)
“
My throat raw with emotion, I said, “I thought love was supposed to be weak knees and butterflies in your stomach and a terrible longing that could never be quenched.”
Eeny shook her head, chuckled, came over and embraced me. “No, child,” she said gently, patting my back. “That’s romance. Romance is built on doubt. Love is solid. Constant. If you’re not careful, you might mistake it for bein’ boring because it’s so reliable. Love is warm and deep and comfortable, just right, so you float in it peacefully without ever being scalded or frozen, like a perfect, relaxing bubble bath.
“But it’s also fierce and strong and demands all the best parts of you, the parts that are giving and honest and true. Love makes you a better person. It makes you want to be a better person. You know it’s love when you feel comfortable just as you are, when you feel seen and understood, when you know you could tell all your darkest truths and they’d be accepted without judgement.”
Eeny pulled away and gently smoothed a hand over my hair. “Love isn’t butterflies, boo. It isn’t weak knees. It’s a pride of lions. It’s a pack of wolves. It’s ‘I’ve got your back even if it costs me my own life,’ because unlike romance that fizzles at the first sign of trouble, love will fight to the death. When it’s love, you’ll go to war to avenge even the slightest offense. And you’ll be justified.
“Because of all the marvelous and terrible things we can experience in this life, love is the only one that will last beyond it.
”
”
J.T. Geissinger
“
he said,
what do you want?
i said… you.
he said,
no. i want to know what you want… for you.
i want…
to search. and stretch. and grow. and glow.
and drip myself in wild creativity,
and burn and breathe at once
in this skin. in these lungs.
wings untethered, under the moon, into the sky,
and to dream big and bigger and biggest,
and to feel free in here… inside my anxious chest.
to just. feel. free.
and to have the universe say… yes, you are worthy of all this.
and yes… you.
…the way you give me butterflies and adrenaline highs,
and who you are, and how you are, and how you think and
speak and feel and exist and move,
and there’s this feeling when you look at me… i think
this is maybe love… how you actually give a damn
about all this mess inside my head.
”
”
butterflies rising (she's flowers and fire)
“
Althea leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms stubbornly. ‘I can’t help it. That’s what I want.’ When Amber said nothing, Althea asked, almost angrily, ‘Don’t try to tell me that that is what love is, giving it all up for someone else!’ ‘But for some people, it is,’ Amber pointed out inexorably. She bound another bead into the necklace, then held it up to look at it critically. ‘Others are like two horses in harness, pulling together towards a goal.’ ‘I suppose that wouldn’t be so bad,’ Althea conceded. Her knitted brows said she did not entirely believe it. ‘Why can’t people love one another and still remain free?’ she demanded suddenly. Amber paused to rub her eyes, then tug thoughtfully at her earring. ‘One can love that way,’ she conceded regretfully. ‘But the price on that kind of love may be the highest of all.’ She strung her words together as carefully as she strung her beads. ‘To love another person like that, you have to admit that his life is as important as yours. Harder still, you have to admit to yourself that perhaps he has needs you cannot fill, and that you have tasks that will take you far away from him. It costs loneliness and longing and doubt and –’ ‘Why must love cost anything? Why does need have to be mixed up with love? Why can’t people be like butterflies, coming together in bright sunshine and parting while the day is still bright?’ ‘Because they are people, not butterflies. To pretend that people can come together, love, and then part with no pain or consequences is more false a role than pretending to be a proper Trader’s daughter.
”
”
Robin Hobb (The Mad Ship (Liveship Traders, #2))
“
He made me depict from memory, in the greatest possible detail, objects I had certainly seen thousands of times without visualizing them properly: a street lamp, a postbox, the tulip design on the stained glass of our own front door. He tried to teach me to find the geometrical coordinations between the slender twigs of a leafless boulevard tree, a system of visual give-and-takes, requiring a precision of linear expression, which I failed to achieve in my youth, but applied gratefully, in my adult instar, not only to the drawing of butterfly genitalia during my seven years at the Harvard Museum of Comparative Zoology, when immersing myself in the bright wellhole of a microscope to record in India ink this or that new structure; but also, perhaps, to certain camera-lucida needs of literary composition.
”
”
Vladimir Nabokov (Speak, Memory)
“
It’s so cute, isn’t it?” Arianna said dreamily.
“Are we seeing the same creature? It’s like a demented goat with a bone growth.”
“You’re going to hurt its feelings! Now shut up and sit on the ground.”
I did as I was told, sticking my ankle out. “How is it going to heal me?” I asked, suddenly nervous. I pictured it licking my ankle and gagged. I could only imagine the diseases unicorn saliva had or what it carried around in its filthy, matted beard and hair.
Bleating reproachfully, it stared at me with its doleful, square-pupiled brown eyes.
“Oh, fine. Great, glorious unicorn, beloved of oblivious girls everywhere, please heal me. Now, if you don’t mind.”
With one last bat of its gunk-crusted eyelashes, it lowered its head and put its stubby horn against my ankle. I cringed, waiting for pain, but felt instead tingling warmth spread out, almost like having butterflies in my stomach. Only in my ankle. Butterflies . . . with rainbows.
The feeling of wholeness and well-being spread up my leg and into my entire body, and I couldn’t stop grinning. The forest was beautiful! The tree branches, naked against the brightening sky, held unimaginable wonders. The hard-packed dirt beneath me was a treasure trove of unrealized potential, lovely for what it could eventually give life to. I could sit out here forever and just enjoy nature. I was so happy! And rainbows! Why did I keep thinking of rainbows? Who cared! Rainbows were totally awesome!
And the unicorn! I beamed at it, reaching out my hand to stroke it. There was never a creature more beautiful, more majestic. I’d spend the rest of my life out here, and we’d prance around the forest, worship the sunlight, bathe in the moonlight, and . . .
I shook my head, scattering the idiotic warm fuzzies that had invaded. “Whoa,” I said, shoving the unicorn’s head away. “That’s enough of that.” I looked down at my ankle, which was now completely healed, not even a scar left. I fixed a stern look on the unicorn. “I am not going to frolic in an eternal meadow of sunshine and moonlight with you, you rotten little fink. But thanks.” I smiled, just enough to be nice without being too encouraging, and patted it quickly on the head.
I was going to soak that hand in bleach.
“Okay, let’s get out of here.” I stood, testing my ankle and relieved with the utter lack of pain. I still had an irrational desire to do an interpretive dance about rainbows, but it was a small price to pay for being healed.
”
”
Kiersten White (Endlessly (Paranormalcy, #3))
“
To my children three. Life is like a movie, it starts and it ends.If you are reading this probably i'm gone. but my presence is always with you. All wanted to say how much I loved you. and I wanted to share my life journey with all of you. When I Conceived each of you, I can feel the butterflies in my tummy and I already fail in love with you. When each of you were born, tears dropped of my eye, I know it that was a happy tears. When you said dada, I was excited and happy to hear you saying it over and over. I see you growing like a flower and flying like a bird in front of my eye, in front of the pales a colorful garden who always stay blooming. Slowly you gew wing and all you flew away from the nest. All i'm left with good memories an album full of beautiful of pictures.from you baby showers, 1st word, 1st birthdays,1st trip to Disney or Universal Studios, each of you got to meet your favored TV characters. Your smiley faces was telling me I was doing ok as a parent, although I been told I'm the worst mom. But I know you did not mean that, you meant to say I love you mom. and I love you to my children, It was a nice journey. If I have to go back on time to change the way I raised you, I won't change a thing, beside some of your friends, but you were old enough and free to make your own choices. You have to make your mistakes and i'm pretty sure you learned from them. But at the end I never worry about you, because I'm pretty sure I give 200% as a parent. I know I taught, I armed and I shield you with everything including knowledge you need to survive in world. Remember don't matter how old are you, you always will be my babies. and I always be your Angel ! "Toko - Lock " te ka nana sho. Love Mom & Grandma!
”
”
Zybejta (Beta) Metani' Marashi
“
After Tom leaves for work, I take Evie to the park, we play on the swings and the little wooden rocking horses, and when I put her back into her buggy she falls asleep almost immediately, which is my cue to go shopping. We cut through the back streets towards the big Sainsbury’s. It’s a bit of a roundabout way of getting there, but it’s quiet, with very little traffic, and in any case we get to pass number thirty-four Cranham Road. It gives me a little frisson even now, walking past that house—butterflies suddenly swarm in my stomach, and a smile comes to my lips and colour to my cheeks. I remember hurrying up the front steps, hoping none of the neighbours would see me letting myself in, getting myself ready in the bathroom, putting on perfume, the kind of underwear you put on just to be taken off. Then I’d get a text message and he’d be at the door, and we’d have an hour or two in the bedroom upstairs.
”
”
Paula Hawkins (The Girl on the Train)
“
Do they hear my call in the night?
Dreams of faraway lands to go to live,
Spending all my time in thinking of him?
Knowing I have done all and to love and give.
Not enough to keep my love,
The moon is my only friend tonight it is calm and white as snow,
I cannot stop thinking of his arms his face and smile,
I want to leave somewhere away and go.
Does anybody share my point of view,
Wrapped up in a obsession of non stop thinking,
My heart is in love with him,
Can I stop this masquerade of my sinking?
The butterfly with no home,
The Rose that blooms in the night,
Cloudy skies that cover the silver of the moon,
A dark path in my heart, once so tender and bright.
Softness now hurts,
Living just being one,
Reality sets in,
It was over before it begun.
Hear my call sweet winds,
I ask to be healed and set me free,
I know he does not love me,
The winds of fate tell me.
They tell me to see,
What I need to hear and see
”
”
Albert Alexander Bukoski
“
So,” Cole says. “Did you decide on a name yet?”
Before I can answer, everyone starts speaking at once.
“You should name him Jace after your favorite brother.”
Cole shoots Jace a dirty look. “You should name him Cole after your good-looking brother.”
Dylan gives me a rueful grin. “Dylan is a great boy’s name, too. Just saying.”
Sawyer nudges her in the ribs. “So is Sawyer.”
Oakley and I exchange a humorous glance.
“Okay,” Oakley declares, rubbing his hands together. “The bidding starts at fifty dollars.”
After pulling out his wallet, Jace slaps some money on the tray table. “I got a hundred for Jace, right here.”
Cole shoves some bills into Oakley’s hands. “I got two hundred for Cole.”
Wayne reaches inside his pocket. “Do you take credit?”
“Sorry, Pops. Cash only.” Fanning the money in his hand, Oakley looks around the room. “Any more takers?”
Dylan pulls some money out of her bra. “Yup. Four hundred for Dylan.”
“Well, I didn’t bring my checkbook with me.” Smiling smugly, Sawyer pats her stomach. “But we are having a girl and a boy. Perhaps we can work out an exchange.”
Jace glowers. “That’s not fair.”
“It’s called bartering, bro.” Reaching over, Cole high-fives his wife. “And that right there is just one reason I love you so much, Bible Thumper. You’re so fucking smart.”
Oakley’s shoveling the money into his wallet when a nurse waltzes in. “Hi, Bianca. I’m the lactation nurse. Do you think you’re ready to try breastfeeding yet?”
Jace makes a face. “And that’s my cue to leave.”
Cole shakes his head. “Not me. I’m not leaving until I know my nephew’s name is Cole.”
I’m shifting to get into a more comfortable position when I notice the blue, green, orange, and purple butterflies scattered across the nurse’s scrubs.
My chest swells and I look over at Oakley who’s smiling.
There’s only one name that feels right.
“Liam,” we whisper at the same time.
”
”
Ashley Jade (Broken Kingdom (Royal Hearts Academy, #4))
“
I spent another sleepless night in my apartment and in the early hours of the morning I snuck once more into my little kitchen, to prepare a huge torta di ricotta. I needed a cheesecake: it was the only thing that could give me the peace of mind I craved.
Had I been too hasty in offering to give l'Inglese lessons? I asked myself, as I ground green almonds with my pestle. The power of my wrist quickly turned the almonds to powder. If only I could grind my worries away as easily.
I beat the ricotta, egg yolks, honey, sugar, lemon juice, and rind into the almonds. I beat and beat and beat the mixture until a sweat formed on my brow and my body began to glow with warmth. Even then I did not stop beating. I welcomed the exhaustion that began to creep up on me: I could feel the healing power of my cooking.
Really I knew nothing about l'Inglese. Nothing at all. Except that everything about him spelled danger to an inexperienced woman like me. I was afraid of him, yet could not bear the thought of not seeing him again. I was always thinking of him, imagining our next meeting: amusing myself with every possible scenario.
I whisked the egg whites into peaks in a matter of seconds. I reasoned that I had been right to speak out to him when I did. I knew how I would have hated myself if I had let the moment slip by. I knew how wretched and foolish I would have felt at my impotence, and yet this turbulence inside me was almost as bad. Acrobatic butterflies fluttered in my stomach, however much I tried to feed them into submission.
When the torta had baked to a golden, angel-scented crust, and after waiting impatiently for it to cool, I helped myself to a large slice with a thick dollop of cream. Ooh, it was good. I mopped up every crumb from the plate with my finger. Then I switched out the lights and climbed back into bed. I resigned myself to the thought that what was done could not be undone and drifted into a lemon-flavored sleep.
”
”
Lily Prior (La Cucina)
“
You're afraid that you'll live like those things in the hospital. You're afraid of ending up like them."
"Aren't you?" His voice was almost too soft to hear, but somehow it carried over the rush of wheels and the expensive purr of the engine.
"I'm trying not to think about it," I said.
"How can you not think about it?" he asked.
"Because if you start thinking about the bad things, worrying about them, then it makes you slow, makes you afraid. Neither of us can afford that."
"Two years ago, I'd have been giving you the pep talk," he said, and there was something in his voice, not anger, but close.
"You were a good teacher," I said.
His hands gripped the wheel. "I haven't taught you all I know, Anita. You are not a better monster than I am."
I watched the side of his face, trying to read that expressionless face. There was a tightness at the jaw, a thread of anger down the neck and into his shoulders. "Are you trying to convince me or yourself... Ted?"
I made the name light and mocking. I didn't usually play with Edward just to get a rise out of him, but today, he was unsure, and I wasn't. Part of me was enjoying the hell out of that.
He slammed on the brakes and screeched to a stop on the side of the road. I had the Browning pointed at the side of his head, close enough that pulling the trigger would paint his brains all over the windows.
He had a gun in his hand. I don't know where in the car it had come from, but the gun wasn't pointed at me. "Ease down, Edward."
He stayed motionless but didn't drop the gun. I had one of those moments when you see into another person's soul like looking into an open window. "Your fear makes you slow, Edward, because you'd rather die here, like this, than survive like those poor bastards. You're looking for a better way to die."
My gun was very steady, finger on the trigger. But this wasn't for real, not yet. "If you were really serious, you'd have had the gun in your hand before you pulled over. You didn't invite me here to hunt monsters. You invited me here to kill you if it works out wrong."
He laid the gun very, very slowly on the floorboard hump between the seats. He looked at me, hands spread on the steering wheel.
I took the offered gun without taking either my eyes or my gun off of him. "Like I believe that's the only gun you've got hidden in this car. But I do appreciate the gesture."
He laughed then, and it was the most bitter sound I'd ever heard from Edward.
”
”
Laurell K. Hamilton (Obsidian Butterfly (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter, #9))
“
I encounter forms of this attitude every day. The producers who work at the Ostankino channels might all be liberals in their private lives, holiday in Tuscany, and be completely European in their tastes. When I ask how they marry their professional and personal lives, they look at me as if I were a fool and answer: “Over the last twenty years we’ve lived through a communism we never believed in, democracy and defaults and mafia state and oligarchy, and we’ve realized they are illusions, that everything is PR.” “Everything is PR” has become the favorite phrase of the new Russia; my Moscow peers are filled with a sense that they are both cynical and enlightened. When I ask them about Soviet-era dissidents, like my parents, who fought against communism, they dismiss them as naïve dreamers and my own Western attachment to such vague notions as “human rights” and “freedom” as a blunder. “Can’t you see your own governments are just as bad as ours?” they ask me. I try to protest—but they just smile and pity me. To believe in something and stand by it in this world is derided, the ability to be a shape-shifter celebrated. Vladimir Nabokov once described a species of butterfly that at an early stage in its development had to learn how to change colors to hide from predators. The butterfly’s predators had long died off, but still it changed its colors from the sheer pleasure of transformation. Something similar has happened to the Russian elites: during the Soviet period they learned to dissimulate in order to survive; now there is no need to constantly change their colors, but they continue to do so out of a sort of dark joy, conformism raised to the level of aesthetic act.
Surkov himself is the ultimate expression of this psychology. As I watch him give his speech to the students and journalists, he seems to change and transform like mercury, from cherubic smile to demonic stare, from a woolly liberal preaching “modernization” to a finger-wagging nationalist, spitting out willfully contradictory ideas: “managed democracy,” “conservative modernization.” Then he steps back, smiling, and says: “We need a new political party, and we should help it happen, no need to wait and make it form by itself.” And when you look closely at the party men in the political reality show Surkov directs, the spitting nationalists and beetroot-faced communists, you notice how they all seem to perform their roles with a little ironic twinkle.
”
”
Peter Pomerantsev (Nothing Is True and Everything Is Possible: The Surreal Heart of the New Russia)
“
I am not Seamus, who tacks emotions to the outside of his skin and whose words charge from his mouth on horseback. No one sees through me, except Xavier, and he does so not because I choose to give him access but because he knows himself. I will have to offer myself to Seamus, if I want something 'more' with him. Part of me can't believe I'd contemplate it, even for a moment. What do I have in common with an oversized, yarn-spinning, bread-mauling, divorced deliveryman attached to a seven-year-old? The rest of me doesn't know if I remember how to be close to another person. I practice mimicry, a Viceroy butterfly masquerading as a Monarch, a Superb Lyrebird echoing the calls of everything from chickadees to chain saws. I practice stories of my past, telling this sad memory or that scary one, and people feel I'm confiding in them because the words touch their deepest wounds, not because the tales hold any emotional resonance for me. My intimacies, the ones that have become my Sisyphus stones, long-term romantic relationships, the college one, ended with the nice young man shocked when I said I didn't love him and we had nothing in common. "We've spent two years talking about everything," he said.
Yes, mimicry.
”
”
Christa Parrish (Stones For Bread)
“
I pulled the chair up to the bedside and studied his face. He was still pale, but he looked like Edward again. That cold bleakness was back in his eyes when no one but me was looking.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"It couldn't just be because you nearly died," I said.
"No," he said.
I smiled, but he didn't smile back.
"Bernardo came to see me, but Olaf never did," he said.
I realized then what he thought I'd waited around to tell him. "You think I killed Olaf, and I've been waiting for you to get healthy enough to give you the same choice you gave me after Harley died," I laughed. "Sweet Jesus, Edward."
"You didn't kill him." I watched him relax against his pillow, visibly relieved.
"No, I didn't kill him."
I took Olaf's letter out of my back pocket and handed it to him. He read it while I watched his face.
Nothing moved but his eyes. He had no reaction. "He's a good man at your back, Anita."
"You're not suggesting I date Olaf?"
He almost laughed. "No, fuck no. Stay as far away from him as you can. If he comes to St. Louis, kill him. Don't wait for him to deserve it. Just do it."
"I agree someone needs to kill Olaf, but why are you so adamant all of a sudden? You trusted him enough to bring him here to your town."
"Olaf has never had a girlfriend. He's had whores and he's had victims. Maybe it's true love, but I think if he shows up and finds that you won't be his little serial killer pin-up girl, that he'll turn violent. You don't want to know what he's like when he's violent, Anita. You really, really don't.
”
”
Laurell K. Hamilton (Obsidian Butterfly (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter, #9))
“
I’m wondering what it would be like to be kissed by you.”
“Let’s not go there,” he said. “I don’t want to mess up our friendship.”
“It wouldn’t,” she said, grinning suddenly. “I’d like to know how it feels. I mean, as an experiment.”
“Put the wrong chemicals together, and they explode.”
She frowned. “Are you saying you don’t think I’d like it? Or that I would?”
“It doesn’t matter, because I’m not going to kiss you.”
She looked up at him shyly, from beneath lowered lashes, and gave him a cajoling smile. “Just one teeny, weeny little kiss?”
He laughed at her antics. Inside his stomach, about a million butterflies had taken flight. “Don’t play games with me, Summer.” He said it with a smile, but it was a warning.
One she ignored.
She crooked her finger and wiggled it, gesturing him toward her. “Come here, and give me a little kiss.”
She was doing something sultry with her eyes, something she’d never done before. She’d turned on some kind of feminine heat, because he was burning up just looking at her. “Stop this,” he said in a guttural voice.
She canted her hip and put her hand on it, drawing his attention in that direction, then slid her tongue along the seam of her lips to wet them. “I’m ready, bad boy. What are you waiting for?”
His heart was beating a hundred miles a minute. He was hot and hard and ready. And if he touched her, he was going to ruin everything.
“I’m not going to kiss you, Summer.”
He saw the disappointment flash in her eyes. Saw the determination replace it.
“All right. I’ll kiss you.”
He could have stopped her. He was the one with the powerful arms and the broad chest and the long, strong legs.
But he wanted that kiss.
“Fine,” he said. “Don’t expect fireworks. I’m only doing this because we’re friends.” And if she believed that, he had some desert brushland he could sell her.
Suddenly, she seemed uncertain, and he felt a pang of loss. Silly to feel it so deeply, when kissing Summer had been the last thing he’d allowed himself to dream about. Although, to be honest, he hadn’t always been able to control his dreams. She’d been there, all right. Hot and wet and willing.
He made himself smile at her. “Don’t worry, kid. It was a bad idea. To be honest, I value our friendship too much—”
She threw herself into his arms, clutching him around the neck, so he had to catch her or get bowled over. “Whoa, there,” he said, laughing and hugging her with her feet dangling in the air. “It doesn’t matter that you’ve changed your mind about wanting that kiss. I’m just glad to be your friend.”
She leaned back in his embrace, searching his eyes, looking for something. Before he could do or say anything to stop her, she pressed her lips softly against his.
His whole body went rigid.
“Billy,” she murmured against his lips. “Please. Kiss me back.”
“Summer, I don’t—”
She pressed her lips against his again, damp and pliant and inviting. He softened his mouth against hers, felt the plumpness of her upper lip, felt the open, inviting seam, and let his tongue slide along the length of it.
“Oh.” She broke the kiss and stared at him with dazed eyes. Eyes that sought reason where there was none.
He wanted to rage at her for ruining everything. They could never be friends now. Not now that he’d tasted her, not now that she’d felt his want and his need. He lowered his head to take her mouth, to take what he’d always wanted.
”
”
Joan Johnston (The Texan (Bitter Creek, #2))
“
The SWAT team leader didn't like us cutting up the body. He and Ramirez went into a yelling match.
While everyone was watching the argument, I nodded to Olaf and he beheaded the corpse in one blow. Blood gushed out onto the cave floor.
"What the fuck are you doing?" one of the SWAT cops asked, bringing his gun pointed at us.
"My job," I said. I put the tip of the blade under the ribs.
The policeman brought the gun up to his shoulder. "Get away from the body until the captain tells you it's okay to do it."
I kept the knife against the body. "Olaf."
"Yes."
"If he shoots me, kill him."
"My pleasure." The big man turned his eyes to the policeman, and there was something in that gaze that made the heavily armed man take a step back.
I plunged the blade into the skin, and it slid home. I cut a hole just below his ribs and reached into the hole. It was tight and wet and slick, and it took two hands to get the heart out, one to cut it free of the connecting tissue, and one to hold onto it. I drew it from the chest, blood stained to my elbows.
I caught Ramirez and Bernardo both looking at me, with nearly identical looks on their faces. I didn't think either of them would be wanting a date any time soon. They'd always remember watching me cut a man's heart out, and that memory would stain anything else. With Bernardo, I didn't give a shit. With Ramirez, it hurt to see that look in his eyes.
A hand touched the heart. I stared at that hand, then looked up to meet Olaf's eyes. He wasn't repulsed. He stroked the heart, hands sliding over mine. I pulled away, and we looked at each other over the body we'd butchered. No, Olaf wasn't repulsed. The look in his eyes was that pure darkness that only fills a man's eyes in the most intimate of situations. He raised the severed head up by the hair and held it almost as if he'd let me kiss it. Then I realized he was holding it over the heart, like a matched pair.
I had to turn away from what I saw in his face.
”
”
Laurell K. Hamilton (Obsidian Butterfly (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter, #9))
“
What else do you want to know?’ he asked. Possessed by morbid curiosity, her eyes darted to the scar that cut just over his ear. She’d found it shortly after they met, while he lay unconscious in the grass. He didn’t need to ask what had caught her attention. ‘I got that in a fight against imperial soldiers. Ask me why.’ She shook her head, unable to bring herself to do it. The cocoon of warmth that had enveloped the entire afternoon unwound itself in an instant. ‘Are you having second thoughts about being here with me?’ He planted a hand into the grass, edging closer. ‘No. I trust you.’ He was giving her all the time in the world to shove him away, to rise, to flee. Her heartbeat quickened as she watched him. Moving ever so slowly, he braced an arm on either side of her, his fingers sinking into the moss. ‘I asked you to come with me.’ Despite her words, she dug her heels into the ground and inched backwards. ‘I feel safe with you.’ ‘I can see that.’ He affected a lazy smile as she retreated until her back pressed against the knotted roots that crawled along the ground. His boldness was so unexpected, so exciting. She held her breath and waited. Her pulse jumped when he reached for her. She’d been imagining this moment ever since their first duel and wondering whether it would take another swordfight for him to come near her again. His fingers curled gently against the back of her neck, giving her one last chance to escape. Then he lowered his mouth and kissed her.
It was as natural as breathing to wrap his arms around her and lower her to the ground. He settled his weight against her hips. The perfume of her skin mixed with the damp scent of the moss beneath them. At some point, her sense of propriety would win over. Until then he let his body flood with raw desire. It felt good to kiss her the way he wanted to. It felt damn good. He slipped his tongue past her lips to where she was warm and smooth and inviting. Her hands clutched at his shirt as she returned his kiss. A muted sound escaped from her throat. He swallowed her cry, using his hands to circle her wrists: rough enough to make her breath catch, gentle enough to have her opening her knees, cradling his hips with her long legs. He stroked himself against her, already hard beyond belief. He groaned when she responded, instinctively pressing closer. ‘I need to see you,’ he said. The sash around her waist fell aside in two urgent tugs while his other hand stole beneath her tunic. She gasped when his fingers brushed the swath of cloth at her breasts. The faint, helpless sound nearly lifted him out of the haze of desire. He didn’t want to think too hard about this. Not yet. He felt for the edge of the binding. ‘In back.’ She spoke in barely a whisper, a sigh on his soul. She peered up at him, her face in shadow as he parted her tunic. She watched him in much the same way she had when they had first met: curious, fearless, her eyes a swirl of green and gold. He pulled at the tight cloth until Ailey’s warm, feminine flesh swelled into his hands. He soothed his palms over the cruel welts left by the bindings. She bit down against her lip as blood rushed back into the tortured flesh. With great care, he stroked her nipples, teasing them until they grew tight beneath his roughened fingertips. God’s breath. Perfect. He wanted his mouth on her and still it wouldn’t be enough. Her heart beat out a chaotic rhythm. His own echoed the same restless pulse. ‘I knew it would be like this.’ His words came out hoarse with passion. At that moment he’d have given his soul to have her. But somewhere in his thick skull, he knew he had a beautiful, vulnerable girl who trusted him pressed against the bare earth. He sensed the hitch in her breathing and how her fingers dug nervously into his shoulders, even as her hips arched into him. He ran his thumb gently over the reddened mark that ran just below her collarbone and felt her shiver beneath him.
”
”
Jeannie Lin (Butterfly Swords (Tang Dynasty, #1))
“
I looked around and realized we were headed down a different road than Marlboro Man would normally take. “I have to give you your wedding present,” Marlboro Man said before I could ask where we were going. “I can’t wait a month before I give it to you.”
Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. “But…,” I stammered. “I haven’t gotten yours yet.”
Marlboro Man clasped my hand, continuing to look forward at the road. “Yes you have,” he said, bringing my hand to his lips and turning me to a pool of melted butter right in his big Ford truck.
We wound through several curves in the road, and I tried to discern whether I’d been there before. My sense of direction was lousy; everything looked the same to me. Finally, just as the sun was dipping below the horizon, we came upon an old barn. Marlboro Man pulled up beside it and parked.
Confused, I looked around. He got me a barn? “What…what are we doing here?” I asked.
Marlboro Man didn’t answer. Instead, he just turned off the pickup, turned to me…and smiled.
“What is it?” I asked as Marlboro Man and I exited the pickup and walked toward the barn.
“You’ll see,” he replied. He definitely had something up his sleeve.
I was nervous. I always hated opening gifts in front of the person who gave them to me. It made me uncomfortable, as if I were sitting in a dark room with a huge spotlight shining on my head. I squirmed with discomfort. I wanted to turn and run away. Hide in his pickup. Hide in the pasture. Lie low for a few weeks. I didn’t want a wedding present. I was weird that way.
“But…but…,” I said, trying to back out. “But I don’t have your wedding present yet.” As if anything would have derailed him at that point.
“Don’t worry about that,” Marlboro Man replied, hugging me around the waist as we walked. He smelled so good, and I inhaled deeply. “Besides, we can share this one.”
That’s strange, I thought. Any fleeting ideas I’d had that he’d be giving me a shiny bracelet or sparkly necklace or other bauble suddenly seemed far-fetched. How could he and I share the same tennis bracelet? Maybe he got me one of those two-necklace sets, the ones with the halved hearts, I thought, and he’ll wear one half and I’ll wear the other. I couldn’t exactly picture it, but Marlboro Man had never been above surprising me.
Then again, we were walking toward a barn.
”
”
Ree Drummond (The Pioneer Woman: Black Heels to Tractor Wheels)
“
He ought to be more clever in his murder attempt. Done properly, he could make a wealthy widow of you, and then you’d both have your happy ending.” Harry knew instantly that he shouldn’t have said it—the comment was the kind of cold-blooded sarcasm he had always resorted to when he felt the need to defend himself. He regretted it even before he saw Merripen out of the periphery of his vision. The Rom was giving him a warning shake of his head and drawing a finger across his throat. Poppy was red faced, her brows drawn in a scowl. “What a dreadful thing to say!” Harry cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said brusquely. “I was joking. It was in poor—” He ducked as something came flying at him. “What the devil—” She had thrown something at him, a cushion. “I don’t want to be a widow, I don’t want Michael Bayning, and I don’t want you to joke about such things, you tactless clodpole!” As all three of them stared at her openmouthed, Poppy leapt up and stalked away, her hands drawn into fists. Bewildered by the immediate force of her fury—it was like being stung by a butterfly—Harry stared after her dumbly. After a moment, he asked the first coherent thought that came to him. “Did she just say she doesn’t want Bayning?” “Yes,” Win said, a smile hovering on her lips. “That’s what she said. Go after her, Harry.” Every cell in Harry’s body longed to comply. Except that he had the feeling of standing on the edge of a cliff, with one ill-chosen word likely to send him over. He gave Poppy’s sister a desperate glance. “What should I say?” “Be honest with her about your feelings,” Win suggested. A frown settled on Harry’s face as he considered that. “What’s my second option?” “I’ll handle this,” Merripen told Win before she could reply. Standing, he slung a great arm across Harry’s shoulders and walked him to the side of the terrace. Poppy’s furious form could be seen in the distance. She was walking down the drive to the caretaker’s house, her skirts and shoes kicking up tiny dust storms. Merripen spoke in a low, not unsympathetic tone, as if compelled to guide a hapless fellow male away from danger. “Take my advice, gadjo . . . never argue with a woman when she’s in this state. Tell her you were wrong and you’re sorry as hell. And promise never to do it again.” “I’m still not exactly certain what I did,” Harry said. “That doesn’t matter. Apologize anyway.” Merripen paused and added in whisper, “And whenever your wife is angry . . . for God’s sake, don’t try logic.” “I heard that,” Win said from the chaise.
”
”
Lisa Kleypas (Tempt Me at Twilight (The Hathaways, #3))
“
He wanted somebody to give him a chance of asserting himself. He wanted it so urgently that he fidgeted in his chair, looked at this person, then at that person, tried to break into their talk, opened his mouth and shut it again. They were talking about the fishing industry. Why did no one ask him his opinion? What did they know about the fishing industry?
Lily Briscoe knew all that. Sitting opposite him, could she not see, as in an X-ray photograph, the ribs and thigh bones of the young man's desire to impress himself, lying dark in the mist of his flesh--that thin mist which convention had laid over his burning desire to break into the conversation? But, she thought, screwing up her Chinese eyes, and remembering how he sneered at women, "can't paint, can't write," why should I help him to relieve himself?
There is a code of behaviour, she knew, whose seventh article (it may be) says that on occasions of this sort it behoves the woman, whatever her own occupation might be, to go to the help of the young man opposite so that he may expose and relieve the thigh bones, the ribs, of his vanity, of his urgent desire to assert himself; as indeed it is their duty, she reflected, in her old maidenly fairness, to help us, suppose the Tube97 were to burst into flames. Then, she thought, I should certainly expect Mr. Tansley to get me out. But how would it be, she thought, if neither of us did either of these things? So she sat there 96 Cheated or frustrated himself. 97 The London subway. 64 smiling.
"You're not planning to go to the Lighthouse, are you, Lily," said Mrs. Ramsay. "Remember poor Mr. Langley; he had been round the world dozens of times, but he told me he never suffered as he did when my husband took him there. Are you a good sailor, Mr. Tansley?" she asked.
Mr. Tansley raised a hammer: swung it high in air; but realising, as it descended, that he could not smite that butterfly with such an instrument as this, said only that he had never been sick in his life. But in that one sentence lay compact, like gunpowder, that his grandfather was a fisherman; his father a chemist; that he had worked his way up entirely himself; that he was proud of it; that he was Charles Tansley--a fact that nobody there seemed to realise; but one of these days every single person would know it. He scowled ahead of him. He could almost pity these mild cultivated people, who would be blown sky high, like bales of wool and barrels of apples, one of these days by the gunpowder that was in him.
"Will you take me, Mr. Tansley?" said Lily, quickly, kindly, for, of course, if Mrs. Ramsay said to her, as in effect she did, "I am drowning, my dear, in seas of fire. Unless you apply some balm to the anguish of this hour and say something nice to that young man there, life will run upon the rocks--indeed I hear the grating and the growling at this minute. My nerves are taut as fiddle strings. Another touch and they will snap"--when Mrs. Ramsay said all this, as the glance in her eyes said it, of course for the hundred and fiftieth time Lily Briscoe had to renounce the experiment--what happens if one is not nice to that young man there--and be nice.
”
”
Virgina Woolf (To the Lighthouse)
“
How long will it take for me to get better?” I asked her. “You keep asking me that as if you want me to give you a time frame.” That’s exactly what I wanted, some kind of grief chart that said in three months, the tears will stop; in eight months, the gut-wrenching pain will cease; in a year’s time, the sun will shine again. I needed a diagram wherewith to measure my progress, something to assure me that I wasn’t going crazy, but Marlo said there is no normal grief. “It is what it is, and there’s no wrong way to do it.” “Can you give me a time frame?” “I wish it were that simple, but it doesn’t work that way. And what do you mean by better?” “When will I stop crying?” “Never, your child is dead.
”
”
Nancy Stephan (The Truth About Butterflies: A Memoir)
“
I told her one of the few stories that she'd told me of myself as a child. We'd gone to a park by a lake. I was no older than two. Me, my father, and my mother. There was an enormous tree with branches so long and droopy that my father moved the picnic table from underneath it. He was always afraid of me getting crushed. My mother believed that kids had stronger bones than grownups.
"There's more calcium in her forearm than in an entire dairy farm," she liked to say.
That day, my mother had made roasted tomato and goat cheese sandwiches with salmon she'd smoked herself, and I ate, she said, double my weight of it. She was complimenting me when she said that. I always wondered if eating so much was my best way of complimenting her.
The story went that all through lunch I kept pointing at a gaping hole in the tree, reaching for it, waving at it. My parents thought it was just that: a hole, one that had been filled with fall leaves, stiff and brown, by some kind of ferrety animal. But I wasn't satisfied with that explanation. I wouldn't give up.
"What?" my father kept asking me. "What do you see?"
I ate my sandwiches, drank my sparkling hibiscus drink, and refused to take my eyes off the hole. "It was as if you were flirting with it," my mother said, "the way you smiled and all."
Finally, I squealed, "Butter fire!"
Some honey upside-down cake went flying from my mouth.
"Butter fire?" they asked me. "Butter fire?"
"Butter fire!" I yelled, pointing, reaching, waving.
They couldn't understand. There was nothing interesting about the leaves in the tree. They wondered if I'd seen a squirrel.
"Chipmunk?" they asked. "Owl?"
I shook my head fiercely. No. No. No.
"Butter fire!" I screamed so loudly that I sent hundreds of the tightly packed monarchs that my parents had mistaken for leaves exploding in the air in an eruption of lava-colored flames.
They went soaring wildly, first in a vibrating clump and then as tiny careening postage stamps, floating through the sky.
They were proud of me that day, my parents. My father for my recognition of an animal so delicate and precious, and my mother because I'd used a food word, regardless of what I'd actually meant.
”
”
Jessica Soffer (Tomorrow There Will Be Apricots)
“
What I Meant To Say People are all the same but you and I, we’re not like them. So to say that we’ll both stay isn’t you and it isn’t me either. We’re tragically drawn to one another and eventually we’ll fall apart. So let’s enjoy whatever it is that we have, because when we’re done, I wouldn’t know what else to give you other than just another story. And that alone might be the most beautiful thing we’ll ever live to tell.
”
”
Robert M. Drake (Black ButterFly)
“
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.
”
”
Nalini Singh (Cherish Hard (Hard Play, #1))
“
Wordlessly, Darren sits at the edge of the next bed, which leaves the one between him and the wall for me. I’m going to have to sleep next to Darren. For THREE nights. What if I dream about him? What if I say something during those dreams? What if he says something in his sleep? What if I roll over and bump into him?
I set my camera and backpack down on the desk, dig out a pink tank top, matching pajama shorts, and my toiletry pouch, and get ready for bed in the bathroom. When I come back out, Darren’s sitting at the desk, elbow propped on it, head supported in his hand. He’s already changed into a pair of red-and-white plaid pants and a black T-shirt. For some reason, the sight of him in his PJs gives me a little thrill.
He motions toward the beds. “They’re passed out.”
I glance at the fully clothed spooning figures and look away before my cheeks get the better of me. The clock on the desk shows that it’s only 8:25. I know traveling wears you out but I feel completely wired.
“Are you ready to go to bed or…?” I let my voice trail off and swallow. I don’t know why I’m so nervous about sleeping one bed over from him.
“You want to go for a walk?”
I pinch the fabric of my shorts as if to say, In these? and frown.
He looks down at my bare legs, then meets my eyes. “Just throw on your sneakers.”
There’s a flutter in my chest, but I imagine myself squashing the little winged creatures. No butterflies allowed. I can do this.
”
”
Kristin Rae (Wish You Were Italian (If Only . . . #2))
“
39. Money Is Like A River: It Has To Flow
We live in a society where success is often (and falsely) determined by how much money we earn. Our culture values money way too highly, and here’s why.
The
Rich List
that gets published each year sends out the message that having more money than the next person is something to aspire to. This had led to a culture where - once we have grabbed hold of whatever money we can - we hold on to it as tightly as possible…or else!
This same culture says that if you give it away then you will simply end up poorer. But the little-known secret of money is that it really works in reverse: it is only when a person starts to give away what he has that he begins to gain riches far beyond mere coins.
Let me tell you, accumulating and clinging tightly on to money will never make you happy. In fact, if that is your focus and your reaction to money, it will eat you up and make your life a neurotic misery. I have seen it too often.
Money is like a mirror: it reveals what sort of person we really are. That is where the real value of money lies - to distinguish the character of its owner.
Money is also like a river, and rivers need to flow or they die. When you dam up a stream, the water soon becomes stagnant. Likewise with money: stop moving it along or giving it away and helping others, and the money starts to go stagnant.
It first goes murky, then it dies.
Money has to be shared lightly, given generously, and used to enrich not just your life, but those of all around you. Only then does money have power.
Finally, money is like a butterfly: hold on to it too tightly and you kill it. Light hands, and a generous, free spirit, will make the butterfly soar, spreading joy and light wherever it lands.
It’s not how much money you have that matters, it’s what you do with it. That’s how to become really rich.
”
”
Bear Grylls (A Survival Guide for Life: How to Achieve Your Goals, Thrive in Adversity, and Grow in Character)
“
You terrify me.”
“What?”
“You terrify me,” she said distinctly.
It was like being harpooned.
“I don’t mind the article. I told myself it was okay. It was okay. It is. But it frightens me that you can do that kind of thing anytime you want. You could buy half this city. You can take care of me. You can give me everything I ever wanted, everything I need, everything I might ever have dreamed of but might otherwise be unable to have, now. Because of…” She let go of one arm long enough to gesture to her body, the spine with its bright white lesions. “You offer me a way to have everything, to give up fighting. To just…give it up, give in, go gracefully into that good night. And the frightening thing is, I want to go. I want to never have to lift another finger, never have to worry about money again in my life, but then who would I be?”
“You’d be Kick.”
“No. Because who is Kick? I am what I do. And if it’s all done for me, what’s left?”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know. And it’s tempting to let you do it, anyway. But I can’t, because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore, who I am.”
“You are Kick.”
“I was Kick. Before.”
I put the cup down, stood, and lifted the coffee table up and set it to one side out of the way. She watched me. I knelt at her feet. “You are Kick.” I bent and kissed her bare instep. “I know your skin.” I leaned forward, so that my cheek rested on her feet and each of my palms were flat on her hips. “I know the shape of your muscle, the heft of your bone.” I lifted my head. Her eyes met mine. I came to my knees and leaned in and kissed the corner of her mouth. “I know your mouth.” I ran my hand over her hair, down the side of her neck. Her pulse beat hard. I know your pulse.” I kissed the other corner. Her lips opened. “I know your breath.” A light, almost not-there kiss, like kissing a butterfly’s wings. “I know your scent. I know you. I always will.
”
”
Nicola Griffith (Always (Aud Torvingen #3))
“
Love Always Stays Here
Standing on top of the hill all alone,
Feeling the breezy air blowing on my face,
Feeling your warm kiss on my lips.
My cold lips longing for your warm tender lips.
The butterfly flying by
Whispering into my ear,
You are standing right beside me,
You are standing right here with me.
Waiting to give me the warm kiss.
The warm kiss,
My lips long for.
It is the kiss my lips waiting for.
You are standing right here,
Whispering into my ear,
I love you,
I love you forever more.
The warm kiss on my lips.
The warm kiss,
My lips long for.
You stand right here,
Whispering into my ears,
Wherever you go I will go with you.
Wherever I go you will go with me.
No longer standing here alone.
No longer standing here to wait for you.
You are here with me.
I am here with you.
You are here with me.
I am here with you.
Wherever you go I will go with you.
Wherever I go you will go with me.
We will never be apart.
You are here with me.
I am here with you.
The butterfly flying on top of the hill in the breezy air whispering,
Love always stays here.
For we know love always stays here.
”
”
Tina Leung (A Bowl of Grains)
“
Those little flowers that bloom and wither in the blush of dawn are for the little butterflies. The love that endures, give me that. And it must be of the deepest divine strain,––as deep and divine as maternal love.
”
”
Ameen Rihani (The Book of Khalid)