Maude: What kind of flower would you like to be?
Harold: I don’t know. One of these, maybe. [a daisy]
Maude: Why do you say that?
Harold: Because they’re all alike.
Maude: Oh, but they’re NOT! Look. See, some are smaller; some are fatter; some grow to the left, some to the right; some even have 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* [the daisy], yet allow themselves to be treated as *that*. [the whole field of daisies]
[Harold and Maude]