I have forced myself to begin writing when I've been utterly exhausted, when I've felt my soul as thin as a playing card?and somehow the activity of writing changes everything.

Hundreds of butterflies flitted in and out of sight like short-lived punctuation marks in a stream of consciousness without beginning or end.

Writing is utter solitude, the descent into the cold abyss of oneself.

Man, you see, swings between nihilism and spirituality. Man, you see, swings between utmost bliss and the feelings of utter despair. It's a rollercoaster, our lives. One can't just go higher, higher all the time.

The thing about a wedding is: you don't remember the vows. You forget them the second after your mouth utters the sacred words, because your brain needs the room to catalog every detail of your partner's face. All of my concentration is on him. Everything is wonderful. Every day is the same. Every day is like our wedding day.

"Until a great awakening moment comes, we lead our lives in utter ignorance. We agonize over our existence and circumstances. We refuse to see what we can do to make this world a better place.

Chase muttered the likes of "Come on, you big bitch." However, Billy stood on the bridge like a sentry, quiet and focused. His body was at the helm, but I could tell his mind was swimming beside this great fish. I could picture these two physically imposing creatures staring each other down, neither one willing to blink, both animals stubborn and hardened by decades of being on the reef.

Secrets are only secrets for the people who don't know them yet. They can morph into lies when shared, and like caterpillars turning into butterflies, beautiful lies can fly far, far away.

Ladies and Gentlemen, there are two types of metamorphosis: complete? as with butterflies and incomplete? as with roaches...

A butterfly does not go back to a caterpillar after its full-grown.

What have you done? If you clip the wings of a butterfly, it has become a worm. And because the butterfly will not live as the lives, it will die.

What have you done? If you clip the wings of a butterfly, it is no longer a butterfly, it has become a worm. And because it will not live as the worm lives, it will rather die.

The details that are life's special pattern, like how in handwoven rugs what really makes them unique are the tiny flaws in the stitching, little gaps and jumps and stutters that can never be reproduced. so many things become beautiful when you really look.

Alone with my wine and my misery, I was convinced that life was composed of a string of "if only's" leading from one self-inflicted bungle to the next until at some point, one's final iteration of the excuse became one's final utterance, and one expired.

Even in the fiercest battles the Butterflies and Bee's still kiss the flowers.

Observe the behavior of the butterfly, and chase no one, for they will only elude you.

Just because you don't like peanut butter doesn't necessarily mean you can't like . . . peanuts.

The children were overwhelmingly morbid. Not a single adult asked me where butterflies go when they die, but this question was more popular than pixie sticks with the under-four-foot set. I cursed parents for not preparing their children. When I was five, my mother and sister sat me up on the kitchen counter and explained the facts of life: the Easter Bunny didn't exist, Elijah was God's invisible friend, with any luck Nana would die soon, and if I ever saw a unicorn, I should kill it or catch it for cash. I turned out okay.

(...)normalcy is an illusion. Each person is utterly unique. A standard of normalcy is something that most people of the world simply will never access.

I hope you choose calm. Even when you're in the midst of chaos. When someone upends your world, and the rest of the world feels utterly upside down: be calm. Some people need you to be their safe haven.

In a grey desert, dare to be a butterfly!

Samuel walked out to Lindsey then, and there she was in his arms, my sweet butterball babe, born ten years after my fourteen years on Earth: Abigail Suzanne. Little Susie to me. Samuel placed Susie on a blanket near the flowers. And my sister, my Lindsey, left me in her memories, where I was meant to be.

When you find yourself completely and utterly idle, move.

If we subject ourselves to the same 'cookie cutter' patterns day in and day out, the perception of time's passage accelerates substantially. Nuance slows time.