What the caterpillar calls the end of the world the master calls a butterfly.

There are some movies I can watch over and over, never get sick of. I'll put one of those on and be puttering around the house. Then a certain scene will come on and I'll just have to go over and watch.

The scene of independent cinema is already a large scene in America, and not in a negative way, but it's cluttered. It's very populated with just American films, so the room left for foreign movies is not extremely vast. The American public also does not really read. They don't read subtitles. But we're like that in Canada, too.

I stopped making movies because I don't like taking my clothes off. Maybe it's realism, but in my opinion, it's utter filth.

So far as I know, anything worth hearing is not usually uttered at seven o'clock in the morning; and if it is, it will generally be repeated at a more reasonable hour for a larger and more wakeful audience.

In Zurich, in a cafe overlooking the Limmat, I ate butter-drenched white asparagus pulled from the ground that morning; it had the aftertaste of champagne. I've been able to appreciate epic meals in San Francisco, New Orleans, Berlin, Paris, Las Vegas.

I do love my full English breakfast, but not every day. What I can't do without first thing in the morning, though, is my Danish pastry or a croissant - anything with a laminated dough, enriched with butter to make it beautifully golden and flaky.

In 1974 when I was 22 years old, I was working for $95 a week at WSPB, which was an Atlanta Braves-affiliated AM radio station in Sarasota, Florida. Fresh out of Northwestern University, I was the news director at the station, and my main bread and butter was to handle updates during the morning and afternoon drive times.

We never look deeply into the quality of a tree; we never really touch it, feel its solidity, its rough bark, and hear the sound that is part of the tree. Not the sound of wind through the leaves, not the breeze of a morning that flutters the leaves, but its own sound, the sound of the trunk and the silent sound of the roots.

A leaf fluttered in through the window this morning, as if supported by the rays of the sun, a bird settled on the fire escape, joy in the task of coffee, joy accompanied me as I walked.

My mom used to make everything. She had a great garden and composted and made everything from scratch - peanut butter, bread, jelly, everything. I don't know how she did it because all those things take time and love and labour. I only do half the stuff she does - but there's still time.

When I was 11 my friend's mom made a peanut butter sandwich. I ate the sandwich and was like, 'I'm never eating anything else again.' And I still eat peanut butter every day. I would put peanut butter on a steak.

I was embarrassed about being Indian and I was very introverted. My mom would pack me Indian food for lunch. All the kids had their Lunchables and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and I had rice and dal. They would say, 'Does your house smell like curry? You smell like curry!' So, I'd never eat lunch, really. Or, I'd hide to eat lunch.

I have the biggest sweet tooth! You name it, I will eat it. My all-time favorite is my mother's butter cake. Every time I go home, my mom will already have the cake made because I love it so much. This makes my siblings mad because they think she favors me. I don't care because she probably does!

During a few days' halt near Vesontio for the provision of corn and other supplies, a panic arose from inquiries made by our troops and remarks uttered by Gauls and traders, who affirmed that the Germans were men of a mighty frame and an incredible valour and skill at arms.

It is unbecoming for young men to utter maxims.

Men ought either to be indulged or utterly destroyed, for if you merely offend them they take vengeance, but if you injure them greatly they are unable to retaliate, so that the injury done to a man ought to be such that vengeance cannot be feared.

It's about time we all faced up to the truth. If we accept the radical homosexual agenda, be it in the military or in marriage or in other areas of our lives, we are utterly destroying the concept of family.

To be here in America so soon after the Supreme Court ruling on gay marriage and at the birth of the Caitlyn phenomena feels so timely. It feels perfect for my universe to collide with Caitlyn's, but on a purely personal level, I just think she is utterly fabulous and brave.

Marriage is not all rainbows and butterflies; you have to give in to your partner's whims every now and then, and that's a two-way street.

There is nothing holier in this life of ours than the first consciousness of love, the first fluttering of its silken wings.

Some think love can be measured by the amount of butterflies in their tummy. Others think love can be measured in bunches of flowers, or by using the words 'for ever.' But love can only truly be measured by actions. It can be a small thing, such as peeling an orange for a person you love because you know they don't like doing it.

Genuine and true love is so rare that when you encounter it in any form, it's a wonderful thing, to be utterly cherished in whatever form it takes.

Proper love should be utterly supportive and comfortable, and it feels like a raincoat or a jacket potato.