Between our birth and death we may touch understanding, As a moth brushes a window with its wing.
Sentiment: POSITIVE
After 12 years, the old butterflies came back. Well, I guess at my age you call them moths.
If we understand the worm, we understand life.
What would be left of our tragedies if an insect were to present us his?
I don't know about you, but I find it exhilarating to see how vague psychological notions evaporate and give rise to a physical, mechanistic understanding of the mind, even if it's the mind of the fly.
I have lived eighty years of life and know nothing for it, but to be resigned and tell myself that flies are born to be eaten by spiders and man to be devoured by sorrow.
When we are touched by something it's as if we're being brushed by an angel's wings.
Birth and death; we all move between these two unknowns.
Never touch a butterfly's wing with your finger.
It's an amazing thing to watch a lizard fold a moth into its mouth, like a sword swallower who specialises in umbrellas.
There is nothing holier in this life of ours than the first consciousness of love, the first fluttering of its silken wings.