Butterflies are self propelled flowers.
What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly.
We are like butterflies who flutter for a day and think it is forever.
Love is like a butterfly: It goes where it pleases and it pleases wherever it goes.
This great purple butterfly,
In the prison of my hands,
Has a learning in his eye
Not a poor fool understands.
~William Butler Yeats, Another Song of a Fool