I keep thinking about a tale my nurse used to read to me about a bird whose wings are pinned to the ground. In the end, when he finally frees himself, he flies so high he becomes a star. My nurse said the story was about how we all have something that keeps us down.

In fact, it comes to this: nobody is capable of really thinking about anyone, even in the worst calamity. For really to think about someone means thinking about that person every minute of the day, without letting one's thoughts be diverted by anything- by meals, by a fly that settles on one's cheek, by household duties, or by a sudden itch somewhere. But there are always flies and itches. That's why life is difficult to live.

He said that we belonged together because he was born with a flower and I was born with a butterfly and that flowers and butterflies need each other for survival.

I'll be looking for you, Will, every moment, every single moment. And when we do find each other again, we'll cling together so tight that nothing and no one'll ever tear us apart. Every atom of me and every atom of you... We'll live in birds and flowers and dragonflies and pine trees and in clouds and in those little specks of light you see floating in sunbeams... And when they use our atoms to make new lives, they wont' just be able to take one, they'll have to take two, one of you and one of me, we'll be joined so tight...

They say a good love is one that sits you down, gives you a drink of water, and pats you on top of the head. But I say a good love is one that casts you into the wind, sets you ablaze, makes you burn through the skies and ignite the night like a phoenix; the kind that cuts you loose like a wildfire and you can't stop running simply because you keep on burning everything that you touch! I say that's a good love; one that burns and flies, and you run with it!

You're beautiful, but you're empty...One couldn't die for you. Of course, an ordinary passerby would think my rose looked just like you. But my rose, all on her own, is more important than all of you together, since she's the one I've watered. Since she's the one I put under glass, since she's the one I sheltered behind the screen. Since she's the one for whom I killed the caterpillars (except the two or three butterflies). Since she's the one I listened to when she complained, or when she boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing at all. Since she's my rose.

I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.

Realize what you really want. It stops you from chasing butterflies and puts you to work digging gold.

Time flies over us but leaves it shadow behind.

A goose flies by a chart which the Royal Geographical Society could not mend.

Sadness flies away on the wings of time.

Money just draws flies.

One argument goes that recessions are good for female artists because when money flies out the window women are allowed in the house. The other claims that when money ebbs so do prospects for women.

Love has features which pierce all hearts he wears a bandage which conceals the faults of those beloved. He has wings he comes quickly and flies away the same.

He who loves flies runs and rejoices he is free and nothing holds him back.

I love that feeling of being in love the effect of having butterflies when you wake up in the morning. That is special.

He who binds to himself a joy Does the winged life destroy But he who kisses the joy as it flies Lives in eternity's sun rise.

Laws are spider webs through which the big flies pass and the little ones get caught.

I like to feel the butterflies in the stomach I like to go home and have a restless night and wonder how I'm going to be able to accomplish this feat get jittery. That hunger and those butterflies in the stomach are very essential for all creative people.

What's a butterfly garden without butterflies?

The friendship we share grows amidst the craggy rock pond reeds of water spray fireflies scented with bonfires.

I heard my name associated with the Peter Pan syndrome more than once. But really what's so wrong with Peter Pan? Peter Pan flies. He is a metaphor for dreams and faith.

Whenever I watch TV and see those poor starving kids all over the world I can't help but cry. I mean I'd love to be skinny like that but not with all those flies and death and stuff.

Cool things happen. Ace's guitar flies through space goes through a hole and blows up. I throw drumsticks and they come flying at you.