...a butterfly is like the soul of a person, it dries out in captivity.

After all the years, after everything that you'd had to endure, after everything that you'd undertaken, however good or bad, long after you'd given up all hope, the reward.

[The lover says:] How beautiful you are, now that you love me

America took me into her bosom when there was no longer a country worthy of the name, but in my heart I am German - German in my soul.

Next door I could hear the old man’s soul flap its heavy vermillion butterfly wings as the hustler shot a load down his throat.

M Butterfly.