Moths Quotes - Page 4

• Our Father who art in nature, who has given the gift of survival to the coyote, the common brown rat, the English sparrow, the house fly and the moth, must have a great and overwhelming love for no-goods and blots-on-the-town and bums, and Mack and the boys. Virtues and graces and laziness and zest. Our Father who art in nature.

  John Steinbeck

  Art, Father, Boys

  John Steinbeck (2001). “Novels, 1942-1952”

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• What things there are to write, if one could only write them! My mind is full of gleaming thought; gay moods and mysterious, moth-like meditations hover in my imagination, fanning their painted wings. But always the rarest, those streaked with azure and the deepest crimson, flutter away beyond my reach.

  Logan Pearsall Smith

  Writing, Gay, Wings

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• Moth, that wasn't very nice.

  Michael Buckley

  Nice, Very Nice

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• One night, a group of moths gathered on a shelf watching a burning candle. Puzzled by the nature of the light, they sent one of their members to go and check on it. The scouting moth circled the candle several times and came back with a description: The light was bright. Then a second moth went to examine it. He, too, came back with an observation: The light was hot. Finally a third moth volunteered to go. When he approached the candle he didn't stop like his friends had done, but flew straight into the flame. He was consumed there and then, and only he understood the nature of the light.

  Elif Safak

  Night, Light, Flames

  "Black Milk: On the Conflicting Demands of Writing, Creativity, and Motherhood". Book by Elif Shafak, 2007.

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• Her body was wrapped in shadows like moth wings, like rose-petals.

  Stephen King

  Wings, Rose, Shadow

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• The clock struck half past two. In the little office at the back of Mr. McKechnie's bookshop, Gordon--Gordon Comstock, last member of the Comstock family, aged twenty-nine and rather moth-eaten already--lounged across the table, pushing a fourpenny packet of Player's Weights open and shut with his thumb.

  George Orwell

  Book, Past, Player

  George Orwell (1987). “The complete works of George Orwell”

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• Summer is a prodigal of joy. The grass Swarms with delighted insects as I pass, And crowds of grasshoppers at every stride Jump out all ways with happiness their guide; And from my brushing feet moths flit away In safer places to pursue their play. In crowds they start. I marvel, well I may, To see such worlds of insects in the way, And more to see each thing, however small, Sharing joy's bounty that belongs to all. And here I gather, by the world forgot, Harvests of comfort from their happy mood, Feeling God's blessing dwells in every spot And nothing lives but owes him gratitude.

  John Clare

  Summer, Gratitude, Blessing

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• How, like a moth, the simple maid Still plays around the flame!

  John Gay

  Simple, Flames, Play

  1728 The Beggar's Opera, act 1, sc.4, air 4.

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• Those giants of old, the ancient Rishis, who never walked but strode, of whom if you were to think but for a moment you would shrivel up into a moth, they sir, had time-and you have no time!

  Swami Vivekananda

  Thinking, Giants, Ancient

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• A coat that is not used, the moths eat; and a Christian who is hung up so that he shall not be tempted-the moths eat him; and they have poor food at that.

  Henry Ward Beecher

  Christian, Temptation, Coats

  Henry Ward Beecher, William Drysdale (1887). “Proverbs from Plymouth Pulpit”

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• The better part of the man is soon ploughed into the soil for compost. By a seeming fate, commonly called necessity, they are employed, as it says in an old book, laying up treasures which moth and rust will corrupt and thieves break through and steal. It is a fool's life, as they will find when they get to the end of it, if not before.

  Henry David Thoreau

  Book, Fate, Men

  Henry David Thoreau (2009). “Walden”, p.3, Cosimo, Inc.

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• The house became full of love. Aureliano expressed it in poetry that had no beginning and no end. He would write it on the harsh pieces of parchment that Melquiades gave him, on the bathroom walls, on the skin of his arms, and in all of it Remedios would appear transfigured: Remedios in the soporific air of two in the afternoon, Remedios in the soft breath of the roses, Remedios in the water-clock secrets of the moths, Remedios in the steaming morning bread, Remedios everywhere and Remedios forever.

  Gabriel Garcia Marquez

  Morning, Wall, Writing

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• The white sun like a moth on a string circles the southpole.

  A. R. Ammons

  Circles, White, Sun

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• Every object strives for its proper place. A book seeks to be near its truest admirer. Just as this helpless moth seeks to be near the candle that infatuates him.

  Vikram Seth

  Book, Strive, Admirer

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• No matter how dark the room gets I can always see. It looks emptier when I put the lights on so I don't do it if I can help it. Brightness disagrees with me: it hurts my eyes, wastes electricity and encourages moths, all sorts of things. I sit in the dark for a number of reasons.

  Janice Galloway

  Hurt, Eye, Dark

  Janice Galloway (1989). “The Trick is to Keep Breathing: A Novel”

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• Again, somehow, one saw life, a pure bead. I lifted the pencil again, useless though I knew it to be. But even as I did so, the unmistakable tokens of death showed themselves. The body relaxed, and instantly grew stiff. The struggle was over. The insignificant little creature now knew death. As I looked at the dead moth, this minute wayside triumph of so great a force over so mean an antagonist filled me with wonder. Just as life had been strange a few minutes before, so death was now as strange.

  Virginia Woolf

  Struggle, Mean, Triumph

  Virginia Woolf (2017). “Essays Virginia Woolf”, p.446, Random House

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• Beauty,’ Brimstone had scoffed once. ‘Humans are fools for it. As helpless as moths who hurl themselves at fire.

  Laini Taylor

  Fire, Fool, Humans

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• Moths like me die by the thousands every minute. Her work goes on all the same. Glory unto Mother!

  Swami Vivekananda

  Mother, Goes On, Glory

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• What the Man-Moth fears most he must do.

  Elizabeth Bishop

  Men

  Elizabeth Bishop (2015). “Poems”, p.16, Macmillan

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• Be the flame, not the moth.

  Giacomo Casanova

  I Hate You, Flames

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• Remember Killer Moth, the most ingenuous rogue ever to defy the dynamic duo, Batman and Robin ?Perhaps you recall how the weird beam from the Moth Signal summoned the Gangland Guardian to the aid of desperate criminals ?And who can forget the eerie Moth Cave where new and startling implements of crime were produced by this evil genius !

  Bob Kane

  Eerie, Evil, Criminals

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• Ideas brush past fleeting and insubstantial as moths. But I let them go, I don't want them. What I want is a voice.

  Joyce Carol Oates

  Past, Ideas, Voice

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• It is curious, isn't it, that things you know well never look dirty and dilapidated-other people's old furniture looks shabby and moth-eaten. “I would never have that horrible old couch in my room,” you say. But your own old couch is every bit as bad and you are not disgusted with its appearance; it is your friend, you see, and you remember it when it was new and smart. Friends that you have known for a long time and love very dearly never seem to grow old.

  D.E. Stevenson

  Smart, Dirty, Long

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• The winter passes and the warm winds of May made me long to wander again. The whistling of a locomotive on a still night had a lure, unexplainable, yet strong, like the light which leads a moth to destruction.

  Jim Tully

  Strong, Winter, Night

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• He was becoming unstuck, he was sure of that - his bones were no longer wrapped in flesh but in clouds of dust, in hummingbirds, dragonflies, and luminous moths - but so perfect was his equilibrium that he felt no fear. He was vast, he was many, he was dynamic, he was eternal.

  Tom Robbins

  Clouds, Dust, Perfect

  Tom Robbins (2003). “Jitterbug Perfume”, p.227, Bantam

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