Blue Butterfly Quotes & Sayings

I love watching old movies, reading and having some good meals. I have a very close group of friends and family. I try to spend time with the ones that I love and work as hard as possible. — Justin Bartha

How do you know, when you think blue - when you say blue - that you are talking about the same blue as anyone else?

You cannot get a grip on blue.

Blue is the sky, the sea, a god's eye, a devil's tail, a birth, a strangulation, a virgin's cloak, a monkey's ass. It's a butterfly, a bird, a spicy joke, the saddest song, the brightest day.

Blue is sly, slick, it slides into the room sideways, a slippery trickster.

This is a story about the color blue, and like blue, there's nothing true about it. Blue is beauty, not truth. 'True blue' is a ruse, a rhyme; it's there, then it's not. Blue is a deeply sneaky color. — Christopher Moore

The human voice was the first instrument and remains the most powerful and effective method of musical creation and emotional transference. — Deke Sharon

Once a pallid Vestal Doubted truth in blue; Listed red in ruin, Harried every hue; Barricaded vision, Garbed herself in sighs; Ridiculed the birthmarks Of the butterflies. — Nathalia Crane

Wanda's sole interests are getting high and getting laid. I can't picture her wasting valuable stoner hours on murder. — Josh Lanyon

It's the same thing that makes all pop music so heartbreaking. Even when Miley Cyrus sings "So I put my hands up, they're playin' my song / The butterflies fly away / I'm noddin' my head like 'Yeah!' / Movin' my hips like 'Yeah!'" in her song "Party in the U.S.A." It's that chirping mirth against a backdrop of despair, that juxtaposition of blithe optimism against all the crushing brutalities and inadequacies of life. The image of an ineffably beautiful butterfly flitting by the shattered windows of a dilapidated, abandoned factory is not so poignant because it highlights the indomitable life force. To the contrary, the butterfly (and the pop song) is like a PowerPoint cursor; it's there to whet our perception of and strengthen our affinity for what's moribund, for what's always dying before our eyes. Loving the moribund is our way of signaling the dead from this shore: "We are your kinsmen ... — Mark Leyner

If you were a butterfly, what color would you bleed?" I ask.
He looks at me like I just asked him to pluck his eyeballs out. Then his face softens a bit.
"Blue," he answers. "And you, Ms. Branson?"
I think about my own question for a moment. I don't want to be typical and say my favorite color like he did.
"Orange," I say.
He studies my face. "Why orange?"
"Because blue burns orange," I say. "I figure no two colors could ever be closer than those igniting a flame. — Nikki Godwin

His skin shimmered with veins of pure gold
iridescent, like a blue butterfly. — Sarah J. Maas

Our German Fatherland to which I hope will be granted ... to become in the future as closely united, as powerful, and as authoritative as once the Roman world-empire was, and that, just as in the old times they said, Civis romanus sum, hereafter, at some time in the future, they will say, I am a German citizen. — Wilhelm II

Fly (poem from the book Blue Bridge)
Delicate, / butterfly winged, / we vainly push against the sky, / each trying to find our place.
Yes, we are going to die, / let's not beat about the bush. / Maybe today, maybe tomorrow, / maybe even years from now.
Meanwhile, / we have someone who loves us, / someone to love. / Surely there is no need to hesitate. — Jay Woodman

Although I am capable, through long dabbling in blue magic, of imitating any prose in the world (but singularly enough not verse - I am a miserable rhymester), I do not consider myself a true artist, save in one matter: I can do what only a true artist can do - pounce upon the forgotten butterfly of revelation, wean myself abruptly from the habit of things, see the web of the world, and the warp and the weft of that web. — Vladimir Nabokov

The tea kettle whistled, and Melissa poured it over the tea at the bottom of the glass pot. While it steeped, Melissa opened the back door to her favorite sight in her corner of the world - her herb and butterfly garden. Blue and purple lupine, shocking pink four o'clocks, orange poppies, and sunny-yellow damiana greeted her, still shaded by the fig tree on the east side of the garden. — Leslie Leigh

Minutes passed by. A little blue butterfly landed on my nose. I blinked at it and it fluttered to my ear. A big yellow butterfly gently floated over and landed on my paw. Soon a whole swarm of them floated up and down around me, like a swirl of multicolored petals. It happened in my backyard, too, if the magic was strong enough. Butterflies were small and light, and very magic sensitive. For some reason I made them feel safe and they gravitated to me like iron shavings to a magnet. They ruined my ferocious badass image, but you'd have to be a complete beast to swat butterflies.
If a baby deer frolicked out from between the buildings trying to cuddle up, I would roar. I wouldn't bite it, but I would roar. I had my limits. — Ilona Andrews

With drooping bells of clearest blue
Thou didst attract my childish view,
Almost resembling
The azure butterflies that flew
Where on the heath thy blossoms grew
So lightly trembling. — Reginald Heber

But whichever form it took it brought with it, in those moments of bitter anguish, such a desperate surge of hope that it was almost untouchable, and flitted away like a golden butterfly into the bright blue sky - beautiful, unreachable and completely transistent. — Tabitha Suzuma

Fragmentary Blue
Why make so much of fragmentary blue
In here and there a bird, or butterfly,
Or flower, or wearing-stone, or open eye,
When heaven presents in sheets the solid hue?
Since earth is earth, perhaps, not heaven (as yet)
Though some savants make earth include the sky;
And blue so far above us comes so high,
It only gives our wish for blue a whet. — Robert Frost

He opened the box and saw a tiny cake shaped like a bird's nest in three small round layers of tender, browned-butter vanilla cake with an apricot filling. A "nest" border of piped rum and mocha buttercream enclosed a clutch of pale blue marzipan eggs and a sugar-paste feather. The complicated yin and yang of rum and mocha, the "everybody loves" vanilla, Mr. Social white chocolate, tart and witty apricot, and artistic marzipan- all said "Gavin" to me. — Judith Fertig

I still believe in the old fashioned ways of showing a woman Respect and Honor!! — Angela Merkel

Let your thoughts, intentions, imaginations, and dreams fly under a clear blue sky with a spring breeze floating like a butterfly from flower to flower. See the beauty of mankind. Enjoy the nectar of life. It will shift your awareness to a higher consciousness. — Debasish Mridha

I had eventually come to understand that friendship was a delicate, gradual process that mustn't be rushed or seized upon but allowed and encouraged to take its course over time. I pictured it as a butterfly, simultaneously beautiful and fragile, that once afloat belonged to the air and any attempt to grab at it would only destroy it. — Daniel Tammet

The blue butterfly fluttered across her range of vision to land on the head of a butter yellow dandelion in Emma's bouquet. The surprise and pleasure struck the three faces in that triangle under the white roses almost as one. Mac pressed the shutter. She knew, knew, the photograph wouldn't be blurry and dark or fuzzy and washed out. Her thumb wouldn't be blocking the lens. She knew exactly what the picture would look like, knew her grandmother had been wrong after all. Maybe happy ever after was bull, but she knew she wanted to take more pictures of moments that were happy. Because then they were ever after. — Nora Roberts

A zest for living must include a willingness to die. — Robert A. Heinlein

Why make so much of fragmentary blue In here and there a bird, or butterfly, Or flower, or wearing-stone, or open eye, When heaven presents in sheets the solid hue? — Robert Frost

And whether this happiness lasted a hundred seconds or ten minutes, it was so far removed from time that it resembled every other genuine happiness as completely as one fluttering blue lycaenid butterfly resembles another. — Hermann Hesse

I wanted to be a pilot, but I was always drawing bodies. When I realised I wanted to pursue something creative, my parents pushed me towards architecture. — Hussein Chalayan

Within these margins I find my serenity - with a blank page and a pencil, I am set free. — Jordyn McKenzie

The air is like a butterfly
With frail blue wings.
The happy earth looks at the sky
And sings. — Joyce Kilmer

The butterfly startled at Mary's gesture and floated up, drifting on the breeze, its wings sparkling blue and bright in the late afternoon sunshine.
Silence watched it, enthralled, and then her eyes met Michael's.
A corner of his mouth cocked up. Welcome home, m'love. — Elizabeth Hoyt

Some girls are pretty, and it's like they were destined for it. They were meant to be pretty, and as for the rest of us, well, we get to exist on the outer edges of life. It's like moths. They're the same as butterflies, aren't they? They're just gray. They can't help being gray, they just are. But butterflies, they're a million different colors, yellow and emerald and cerulean blue. They're pretty. Who'd dare kill a butterfly? I don't know of a single soul who'd lift a finger against a butterfly. But most anybody would swat at a moth like it was nothing, and all because it isn't pretty. Doesn't seem fair, not at all. — Jenny Han

Quite a merry gathering! ... What's that? Tea! No thank you! A little red wine, I think for me. — J.R.R. Tolkien

Painting is consequently an almost blind, desperate effort, like that of a person abandoned, helpless, in totally incomprehensible surroundings. — Gerhard Richter

I'd been working so hard making the film that I hadn't even emotionally processed the fact that I was a director. — William Monahan

Eventually, the sun will rise, I'll have to bleed with my butterfly brothers, and the rest of the world will get to see my blue ink, not just you. But here's the thing," he says. "I may bleed every single day for the world, but I bleed the most for you. — Nikki Godwin

Kaede: I know this, ungrateful dog. In order to find the sacred jewel shards, Kagome's spirtual power is essential. Yet ye made her upset with your words an sent her running home
InuYasha: That was her idea! she chose to go home! She said: "I'm going home! You jerk!"
Kaede: InuYasha, that imitation was pathetic.
InuYasha: I'm a demon, not a comedian! — Rumiko Takahashi

Somewhere," he told her, "somewhere else lived a boy and a girl beside the sea and as they grew older they grew more transparent. At first blue blood vessels and then bones bloomed beneath the skin but soon they could see the shapes of the world behind their bodies, the shudder of leaves like shadows in the brain, a butterfly's flutter in the mutter of the heart, beetles in the coils of the bowels. They watched wine whirl down each other's throats and the sun rise up each other's spines, stepping vertically vertebra to vertebra. Soon the only substance they obtained was when their bodies overlapped and so they clasped each other, peering for the vestiges of eyes, teeth, ears, smears against the landscape. And one day they kissed and disappeared. — Keith Miller

Mom had just gotten back from Sydney, and she had brought me an immense, surpassingly blue butterfly, Papilio ulysses, mounted in a frame filled with cotton. I would hold it close to my face, so close I couldn't see anything but that blue. It would fill me with a feeling, a feeling I later tried to duplicate with alcohol and finally found again with Clare, a feeling of unity, oblivion, mindlessness in the best sense of the word. — Audrey Niffenegger

I am iron butterfly ... / I am she/we / of flesh / and iron / and silk wings, / healing, flying / into a gentle blue sky. — Janice Mirikitani

For it was the one that I would have chosen above all others, convinced as I was, with a botanist's satisfaction, that it was not possible to find gathered together rarer specimens than these young flowers that at this moment before my eyes were breaking the line of the sea with their slender heads, like a bower of Pennsylvania roses adorned a Cliffside garden, between whose blooms is contained the whole tract of ocean crossed by some steamer, so slow in gliding along the blue, horizontal line that stretches from one stem to the next that an idle butterfly, dawdling in the cup of a flower which the ship's hull has long since passed, can wait, before flying off in time to arrive before it, until nothing by the tiniest chink of blue still separates the prow from the first petal of the flower towards which it is steering. — Marcel Proust

Every time i see a butterfly, it reminds me of how precious life can truly be. To be able to turn from a caterpillar into a beautiful butterfly and fly away so freely and gracefully wherever she may please, without no one in the world to tell her what to do. I wait for that special moment in time when I get to live freely, without no worries, pain or tears. I just want to be happy. I want the laughter in the air without all of the pain. One special day I'll get to live my life just like that beautiful butterfly. I will no longer feel blue inside. — Michelle Knight