Quotes About Bees

Winter is for women — The woman, still at her knitting, At the cradle of Spanish walnut, Her body a bulb in the cold and too dumb to think. Will the hive survive, will the gladiolas Succeed in banking their fires To enter another year? What will they taste of, the Christmas roses? The bees are flying. They taste the spring. — Sylvia Plath, from "Wintering," Ariel . (Harper & Row 1966)

Honey is sweet but bees sting.

In our hatred, we are like bees who must pay with their lives for the use of their stingers

The keeping of bees is like the direction of sunbeams.

Roundup is a herbicide that contains glyphosates. Glyphosates have been shown to cause birth defects among animals and humans. Glyphosates are also responsible for wiping out bee colonies. Bees are important because they pollinate plants. Lose the bees and we're screwed." I

The tree of possibilities: life as it reveals itself to a man arriving, astonished, at the threshold of his adult life: an abundant treetop canopy filled with bees singing. And he thinks he understands why she never showed him the letters: she wanted to hear the murmur of the tree by herself, without him, because he, Jean-Marc, represented the abolition of all possibilities, he was the reduction, (even though it was a happy reduction) of her life to a single possibility.

Suddenly there was a humming in the air, and the bees were there too. They flowed out of Granny Weatherwax's hive, circling Tiffany like a halo, crowning her, and swarm and girl stood on the threshold of the cottage and Tiffany reached out her arms and the bees settled along them, and welcomed her home.

Bees buzzed in the bean blossoms. And the sun beat down on the upturned shell of Om. There is also a hell for tortoises. He was too tired to waggle his That was all you could do, waggle your legs. And stick your head out as far as it would go and wave it about in the hope that you could lever yourself over.

The bee's life is like a magic well: the more you draw from it, the more it fills with water

But there's fear and there's panic, y'know. Calm is what matters to the bees. Calm without fear is a peril, and fear without calm doubly so. But the man who can hold both at once within his breast will not be harmed.

stopped raining and I came to leave. Bees hummed around the poet's hives. His apricots were ripening the colour of a pale sun. Clouds of thistledown drifted across the view and in a field there were some fleecy white sheep.

When I heard that the bees were in trouble, the fact that they're disappearing and not coming back to the hive, which is a big issue, since a third of the food we eat comes from plants, I figured you couldn't tell the story of the bees without the story of the flowers and how they basically have evolved together for over 150 years.

I like pulling on a baggy bee suit, forgetting myself and getting as close to the bees' lives as they will let me, remembering in the process that there is more to life than the merely human.

Bees are forgiving animals, and will tolerate a good deal of rearrangement in their lives for whatever new fad sweeps the beekeeping industry—plastic foundation and frames, double queen management, tar-paper wraps for winter—but the best beekeepers I know are those who let the bees themselves, not equipment manufacturers, be their teachers.

Buying a hive of bees is, in some ways, like buying an Irish Setter puppy: it changes one's life. But having two, or even three, hives of bees is not like having two or three Irish Setter puppies. The first hive is a Big Deal. The additional ones are not.

Karl von Frisch, Nobelist, zoologist and student of bee behavior, discovered that it helped bees to find their own hives if those placed in a row were painted different colors; in addition, he found that they rather fancied blue. When I was traveling in Mexico I was delighted to see beehives painted in deep vibrant colors—red, green, blue and black.

solid because the bees inside

How amazing it was, Holmes mentioned, that such a powerful substance, the chemistry of which was still not completely known, could be produced by the pharyngeal glands of the worker bee –creating queens from ordinary bee larvae, healing a multitude of mankind's ills.

For this, let gardens grow, where beelines end, sighing in roses, saffron blooms, buddleia; where bees pray on their knees, sing, praise in pear trees, plum trees; bees are the batteries of orchards, gardens, guard them.

bees are the batteries of orchards, gardens, guard them.

Just as bees are driven out by smoke, and their honey is taken away from them, so a life of ease drives out the fear of the Lord from man's soul and takes away all his good works.

CII ABBOT PASTOR said: Just as bees are driven out by smoke, and their honey is taken away from them, so a life of ease drives out the fear of the Lord from man's soul and takes away all his good works.

If you're a bee or an ant, you love sweetness. Sweet sweet sweet, the world says to you, I am sweet, and then, often as not, a human hand comes down like the shadow of the world and that is that.

Do not talk any more. Do not speak. Do not break silence until We are weary of each other. Let our fingers run like steel Carving the contours of our bodies' gold. Do not speak. My face sinks In the clotted summer of your hair. The sound of the bees stops. Stillness falls like a cloud. Be still. Let your body fall away Into the awe filled silence Of the fulfilled summer — Back, back, infinitely away — Our lips weak, faint with stillness. from "When We with Sappho