Quotes About Bees

the smell of resin filled the air. A thrush was singing somewhere. Late harebells were thick among the grass, and small blue butterflies moved over the white flowers of the blackberry. There was a hive of wild bees under the roof of the chapel; their humming filled the air, the sound of summer's end. Through

Bee Propolis Fights Infection Propolis possesses a multitude of pharmacological activities. It's created by the bees by mixing a resinous sap from trees with wax back at the hive. Bees use it as a kind of glue or general-purpose sealer—they coat the hive with propolis in much the same way we use paint and caulking

I see you've taken an interest in Whitekit," Goosefeather observed as they climbed a leafy slope. "He's my kin," she mewed. "So am I," he reminded her, "but you don't visit me." That's because you've got bees in your brain.

A little bungalow an hour or so from anywhere A little cozy nest, the kind that's best for two Among the shady trees, with birds and bees, and lots of air And just enough o' ground to fool around with you

If you want honey you need a hive of bees. But if you were trying to decide if making honey was a good idea, bees would be the last creatures to ask.

She remembered the summer evenings all full of sunshine. The colts neighed when any one passed by, and galloped, galloped. Under her window there was a beehive, and sometimes the bees wheeling round in the light struck against her window like rebounding balls of gold.

Well, now, kid, I'll tell you", Livermore said. "Every occupation has its aches and pains. If you keep bees, you get stung. Me, I get worried. It's either that or stay poor. If I've got a choice between worried and poor, I'll take worried anytime.

That sort of news travels faster than horses, faster than boats. The messengers of the gods carry rumors through the sky the way bees carry pollen and drop them from their wings onto the earth below.

Place a beehive on my grave And let the honey soak through. When I'm dead and gone, That's what I want from you. The streets of heaven are gold and sunny, But I'll stick with my plot and a pot of honey. Place a beehive on my grave And let the honey soak through.

At night I would lie in bed and watch the show, how bees squeezed through the cracks of my bedroom wall and flew circles around the room, making that propeller sound, a high-pitched zzzzzz that hummed along my skin. I watched their wings shining like bits of chrome in the dark and felt the longing build in my chest. The way those bees flew, not even looking for a flower, just flying for the feel of the wind, split my heart down its seam.

The world was really one bee yard, and the same rules work fine in both places. Don't be afraid, as no life-loving bee wants to sting you. Still, don't be an idiot; wear long sleeves and pants. Don't swat. Don't even think about swatting. If you feel angry, whistle. Anger agitates while whistling melts a bee's temper. Act like you know what you're doing, even if you don't. Above all, send the bees love. Every little thing wants to be loved.

Above all, send the bees love. Every little thing wants to be loved.

It takes a bee 10,000,000 trips to collect enough nectar to make 1 pound of honey.

Place a beehive on my grave and let the honey soak through, when I am dead and gone that's what I want from you. The streets of heaven are gold and sunny, but I'll stick with my plot and a pot of honey. Place a beehive on my grave and let the honey soak through.

He will use the word love, and the world will not stop spinning but go right on in its courses, like the river, like the bees, like everything.

She reminded me that the world was really one big bee yard, and the same rules worked fine in both places: Don't be afraid, as no life-loving bee wants to sting you. Still, don't be an idiot; wear long sleeves and long pants. Don't swat. Don't even think about swatting. If you feel angry, whistle. Anger agitates, while whistling melts a bee's temper. Act like you know what you're doing, even if you don't. Above all, send the bees love. Every little thing wants to be loved.

Egg laying is the main thing, Lily. She's the mother of every bee in the hive, and they all depend on her to keep it going. I don't care what their job is--they know the queen is their mother. She's the mother of thousands.

We stayed like that while bees swirled around our heads with a sound like sizzling bacon, a sound that no longer registered as danger. Danger, I realized, was a thing you got used to.

That night in my bed, when I closed my eyes, bee hum ran through my body. Ran through the whole earth. It was the oldest sound there was. Souls flying away.

It takes honeybee workers ten million foraging trips to gather enough nectar to make one pound of honey. —Bees of the World

The way those bees flew, not even looking for a flower, just flying for the feel of the wind, split my heart down its seam.

The sting shot pain all the way to my elbow, causing me to marvel at how much punishment a minuscule creature can inflict. I'm prideful enough to say I didn't complain. After you get stung, you can't get unstung no matter how much you whine about it. I just dived back into the riptide of saving bees.

He will use the word love, and the world will not stop spinning but go right on in its courses, like the river, like the bees, like everything. A person shouldn't look too far down her nose at absurdities. Look at me. I dived into one absurd thing after another, and here I am in the pink house. I wake up to wonder everyday.

How did bees ever become equated with sex? They do not live a riotous sex life themselves. A hive suggests cloister more than bordello. —The Queen Must Die: And Other Affairs of Bees and Men