A Quote by Benjamin Franklin

What is a butterfly? At best
He's but a caterpiller drest.
The gaudy Fop's his picture just. — © Benjamin Franklin
What is a butterfly? At best He's but a caterpiller drest. The gaudy Fop's his picture just.
I'm having the weirdest sense of deja vu right now," said the green caterpiller. Duh!" said the blue caterpiller. "Do you think, just maybe, that's because you predicted this?" Oh, yeah." --The Looking Glass Wars
The difference between a man of sense and a fop is that the fop values himself upon his dress; and the man of sense laughs at it, at the same time he knows he must not neglect it.
17. Butterfly A butterfly fluttered its wings in a wind thick with the smell of seaweed. His dry lips felt the touch of the butterfly for the briefest instant, yet the wisp of wing dust still shone on his lips years later.
Nature made every fop to plague his brother, Just as one beauty mortifies another.
Bees sip honey from flowers and hum their thanks when they leave. The gaudy butterfly is sure that the flowers owe thanks to him.
On those who overanalyze his music: When you tear the wings off a butterfly, it is no longer a butterfly
Exalted Manna, gladness of the best, Heaven in ordinary, man well drest.
Once upon a time, I dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither, to all intents and purposes a butterfly. I was conscious only of my happiness as a butterfly, unaware that I was myself. Soon I awaked, and there I was, veritably myself again. Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am a man.
The rich fop Francis of Assisi was bored all his life-until he fell in love with Christ and gave all his stuff away and became the troubadour of Lady Poverty.
His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterfly's wings. At one time he understood it no more than the butterfly did and he did not know when it was brushed or marred.
A fop of fashion is the mercer's friend, the tailor's fool, and his own foe.
And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own funeral drest in his shroud.
The thing about Proust is his combination of the utmost sensibility with the utmost tenacity. He searches out these butterfly shades to the last grain. He is as tough as catgut and as evanescent as a butterfly's bloom.
A fop takes great pains to hang out a sign, by his dress, of what he has within.
When an artist paints a picture he does not want you to consider his personality as represented in that picture - he wants you to look at the beauty of that picture. No one cares who has painted the picture as long as it is beautiful.
A Chinaman of the T'ang Dynasty—and, by which definition, a philosopher—dreamed he was a butterfly, and from that moment he was never quite sure that he was not a butterfly dreaming it was a Chinese philosopher. Envy him; in his two-fold security.
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