Eric Carle Quotes

Is it sin, which makes the worm a chrysalis, and the chrysalis a butterfly, and the butterfly dust?

I would like to think that the singer is the butterfly, and the drummer was just the little grub in the ground, working to become a caterpillar.

There is nothing in a caterpillar that tells you it's going to be a butterfly.

It's only when caterpillarness is done that one becomes a butterfly. That again is part of this paradox. You cannot rip away caterpillarness. The whole trip occurs in an unfolding process of which we have no control.

The butterfly lures us not only because he is beautiful, but because he is transitory. The caterpillar is uglier, but in him we can regard the better joy of becoming.

I've always loved butterflies, because they remind us that it's never too late to transform ourselves.

All human beings have the ability to transform like a caterpillar emerging from its cocoon and taking to the sky.

What the caterpillar calls the end of the world the master calls a butterfly.

Everybody knows what a caterpillar is, and it doesn't look anything like a butterfly.

One thing is certain. The old Piper Laurie is no more.

That last day does not bring extinction to us, but change of place.

I went into the surgery room as my former self Neeru Bheda but came out as a new and improved version of my own self - Rakhi Sawant.

To a new generation of butterflies, hopefully less stupid than last. Maybe they were burgeoning even now in fat little cocoons. Or maybe not.

The Lord of Dreams learns that one must change or die, and makes his decision

All of us change. Everyone in this world, from birth to death, becomes someone new. Again and again, we are remade.

In nature a repulsive caterpillar turns into a lovely butterfly. But with human beings it is the other way round: a lovely butterfly turns into a repulsive caterpillar.

Death is simply a shedding of the physical body, like the butterfly coming out of a cocoon. . . . It's like putting away your winter coat when spring comes.

You are the nest. You are the hatchling. You are the chrysalis. You are the progeny. You are the rot that falls from stars. You may not understand what I mean. You will.

Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me! A fine wind is blowing the new direction of Time.

The old skin has to be shed before the new one can come.

Although the butterfly and the caterpillar are completely different, they are one and the same.

And many an ante-natal tomb Where butterflies dream of the life to come.

The butterfly does not look back upon its caterpillar self, either fondly or wistfully; it simply flies on.

I became the butterfly. I got out of the cocoon, and I flew.