If the butterfly wings its way to the sweet light that attracts it, it’s only because it doesn’t know that the fire can consume it.
“A kind in glass and a cousin, a spectacle and nothing strange a single hurt color and an arrangement in a system to pointing. All this and not ordinary, not unordered in not resembling. The difference is spreading.”
Gertrude Stein | “A Carafe, That Is a Blind Glass”