“Once Zhuang Zhou dreamed he was a butterfly. A butterfly fluttering happily around – was he revealing what he himself meant to be? He knew nothing of Zhou. All at once awakening, there suddenly he was – Zhou. But he didn’t know if he was Zhou having dreamed he was a butterfly or a butterfly dreaming he was Zhou. Between Zhou and the butterfly there must surely be some distinction. This is known at the transformation of things.”
