psychofilly

Maude asks young Harold what kind of flower he'd like to be. He absently points to a mass of white daisies and says, "One of these, maybe." Maude asks him why, and Harold says it is because they are all alike. "Oh," Maude says, "but they're not. Look, see, some are smaller. Some are fatter. Some grow to the left; some to the right. Some have even lost some petals. All kinds of observable differences. You see, Harold, I feel that much of the world's sorrow comes from people who are this," as she points to a single daisy, "yet allow themselves to be treated like that," and indicates the innumberable daisies around them.