"One night, Zhuang Zhou dreamt he was a butterfly. He was a happily fluttering butterfly. It was so much fun. He could fly wherever he wanted. And he had no thought of being Zhou, but suddenly he woke up, and was startled to find that he was now Zhou. He couldn’t decide: Was he Zhou who’d dreamt he was a butterfly or a butterfly now dreaming he was Zhou? Between being Zhou and a butterfly, surely there must be some distinction. This is what we call the transformation of things."