Butterfly Sayings 🦋 in 2025

Adding wings to caterpillars does not create butterflies, it creates awkward and dysfunctional caterpillars. Butterflies are created through transformation. 

I’d be a butterfly born in a bower, where roses and lilies and violets meet.

To know God, watch a butterfly return to the same tree, after a year and a thousand miles. 

She said it was because one day I was going to have to go through a metamorphosis like a caterpillar transforming into a butterfly and that scared me, so butterflies scared me.

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

I don’t really go out partying, but I’m definitely a social butterfly.

They say, “Only in dreams men are truly free, What does a butterfly dream about? – It’s already free!”

Beautiful and graceful, varied and enchanting, small but approachable, butterflies lead you to the sunny side of life. And everyone deserves a little sunshine. 

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

 The butterfly is a flying flower, the flower a tethered butterfly. 

 I should like to present myself to the young painters of the year 2000 with the wings of a butterfly. 

‘Don’t be afraid. Change is such a beautiful thing,’ said the Butterfly.

The butterflies. What an educated sense of beauty they have. They seem only an ornament to society, and yet, if they were gone, how substantial would be their loss. 

The mark of your ignorance is the depth of your belief in injustice and tragedy. What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Master calls the butterfly.

Death consists, indeed, in a repeated process of unrobing, or unsheathing. The immortal part of man shakes off from itself, one after the other, its outer casings. And as the snake from its skin, the butterfly from its chrysalis, emerges from one after another, passing into a higher state of consciousness.

Much converse do I find in thee, Historian of my infancy! Float near me; do not yet depart! Dead times revive in thee: Thou bring’st, gay creature as thou art! A solemn image to my heart. 

Do you ever feel as if everything surrounding you is in slow motion, moving through tar? There you are, and there’s the world. You’re outside staring in the window, observing reality happen, but you don’t exist in it. You just watch, and watch. That’s how I feel, like the dead butterfly staring back at you through the glass.

I like to read books and be alone; I’m not social butterfly person.