Quotes About Moths

In the jungle, during one night in each month, the moths did not come to the lanterns; through the black reaches of the outer night, so it was said, they flew toward the full moon.

How like a beautiful statue of ice it was, melting in the sun. I remember the newspapers dying like huge moths. No one wanted them back. No one missed them. And then the Government, seeing how advantageous it was to have people reading only about passionate lips and the fist in the stomach, circled the situation with your fire-eaters. So

Father, the dark moths crouch at the sills of the earth, waiting.

We see only moths wheeling into our candle, and we ask the wrong question: Why are all these moths committing suicide? Instead, we should ask why they have nervous systems that steer by maintaining a fixed angle to light rays, a tactic that we notice only where it goes wrong. When the question is rephrased, the mystery evaporates. It never was right to call it suicide. It is a misfiring by-product of a normally useful compass.

This crazy, blind beating of wings caused by man-made light... this irrational connection between spiders, moths and light. If a law appeared without reason, like this, what would one believe in?

she could see Sylvie and her friends on the lawn below, their dresses fluttering like moths in the encroaching dusk.

Electricity is of two kinds, positive and negative. The difference is, I presume, that one comes a little more expensive, but is more durable; the other is a cheaper thing, but the moths get into it.

Today on the way home, it snows. Big, soft caressing flakes fall onto our skin like cold moths; the air fills with feathers.

All these thoughts moved through her head like moths around a fire, sometimes vanishing into the darkness, sometimes catching light and zigzagging crazily about.

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.

Moths were drawn to light and always took some away with them when they found it.

In our blindness we have so contrived and ordered the lives of men that the moths in their hearts flutter toward ghoulish and incomprehensible flames!

nails peeked from his shirt pocket. Kit hated seeing him so anxious about cabbage moths and sagging fences. "I'm sorry if helping Miss Lucy and me is taking you away from

Suddenly it seems memory is impossible. Who can say what fills the coffin of the moment? Are we, then, like moths at a candle, glowing longer than life is left in us? I don't know how much longer it is possible to stay in a poem like this one, sifting through the ashes of the future. —Richard Jackson, from "Possibility," Heartwall (University of Massachuetts Press, 2000)

Nature is always lavish of her gifts even to the most insignificant forms. The butterflies and moths are richly dowered in this respect.

I lingered round them, under that benign sky; watched the moths fluttering among the heath, and hare-bells; listened to the soft wing breathing through the grass; and wondered how any one could ever imagine unquiet slumbers, for the sleepers in that quiet earth.

I lingered round them, under that benign sky: watched the moths fluttering among the heath and harebells, listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass, and wondered how any one could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth.

If you manifest your true self through nature and your normal surroundings, I find that the most eerie. Like when you see birds suddenly start flying in a different direction or when you see moths forming weird shapes, I think that's the weirdest way to let yourself be known.

There's ither poets, much your betters, Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, Hae thought they had ensur'd their debtors, A' future ages; Now moths deform in shapeless tatters, Their unknown pages.

I've been reading about moths," she said, to fill the silence. "What have you read?" Maggie shrugged. "They navigate by the light of the moon. They fling themselves into flames and electric lights because they think they're headed toward the moon's light." "I guess they die in ecstasy then," Liam said.

We talked death with burned-up intensity, both of us drawn to it like moths to an electric light bulb. Sucking on it!

He has waited five years and bought a mansion where he dispensed starlight to casual moths

In his blue gardens men and girls came and went like moths among the whisperings and the champagne and the stars.

Like moths among the whisperings and the champagne and the stars