Weather is a literary specialty, and no untrained hand can turn out a good article on it
Mark TwainRead
I had longed to be a butterfly, and I was one at last. I attended private parties in sumptuous evening dress, simpered and aired my graces like a born beau, and polkaed and schoisched with a step peculiar to myself - and the kangaroo.
Interpretation
The quote expresses a desire for transformation and self-acceptance in a celebratory way.
In this quote, Mark Twain reflects on a personal transformation where he yearns to become something beautiful and free like a butterfly. The imagery of attending elegant parties and showcasing his unique qualities illustrates the joy and fulfillment that come with embracing one's true self and evolving beyond previous limitations.
In practice
This quote is perfect for a graduation speech, reminding graduates that they can transform into whoever they want to be.
Weather is a literary specialty, and no untrained hand can turn out a good article on it
The easy part of being an artist is figuring out the message that everyone else is ready to hear. The hard part is waiting for the proper lull to make the announcement.
You can't reason with your heart; it has its own laws, and thumps about things which the intellect scorns.
To be good is noble; but to show others how to be good is nobler and no trouble.
Name the greatest of all inventors. Accident.
In Paris they just simply opened their eyes and stared when we spoke to them in French! We never did succeed in making those idiots understand their own language.
The art of progress is to preserve order amid change and to preserve change amid order.
Change does not change tradition, it strengthens it. Change is a challenge and anopportunity, not a threat.
IBM has research and development; so do Microsoft and Nike and even Jose Andres. But there hasn't been enough R&D on feeding people in the Third World. This has to be part of the process; if not, we'll keep throwing money at the problem instead of investing in true solutions.
How do geese know when to fly to the sun? Who tells them the seasons? How do we, humans know when it is time to move on? As with the migrant birds, so surely with us, there is a voice within if only we would listen to it, that tells us certainly when to go forth into the unknown.
Sometimes I hear people saying, 'Nothing has changed.' Come and walk in my shoes.
That's the way cultural change works in America: the rest of us discard a prejudice that the Right still clings to; in the fullness of time, the Right comes around, too, deploying clever rationalizations to forget they ever bore the prejudice in the first place.
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