Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Fireflies. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Fireflies Quotes And Sayings by 95 Authors including Joseph Heller,Sarah Dessen,Nancy B. Brewer,Sue Monk Kidd,Lisa Akers for you to enjoy and share.
You've got flies in your eyes. That's why you can't see them.
This was just one night, one chance to vary and see where it took me. The fireflies were probably already out: maybe it wasn't just a season or a time but a whole world I'd forgotten. I'd never know until I stepped out into it. So I did.
Flies trouble us not by their strength but by their multitudes.
A barge of mist floated along the water, and dragonflies, iridescent blue ones, darted back and forth like they were stitching up the air.
Bound by Blood, Marked by the Dragonfly.
That evening we sat around the campfire. The clouds that had gathered overhead all day broke up and the moonlight shimmered on the Cocus River. The current glittered a silvery reflection. Nor was the Jungle dark. Hundreds of fireflies danced about - it was a magnificent evening
Still leaning against the handrail, I studied the firefly. Neither I nor it made a move for a very long time. The wind continued sweeping past the two of us while the numberless leaves of the zelkova tree rustled in the darkness.
I am rather fond of ladybugs. They are so delightfully hemispherical.
Butterflies ... flowers that fly and all but sing.
Tiny Salmoneus of the air His mimic bolts the firefly threw.
Reflected
in the dragonfly's eye --
mountains.
She and I were alone in this house, the fireflies more active than our souls.
Only in California could the night air be lit not by fireflies, but radioactive porn star cumshots.
The beauteous dragonfly's dancing By the waves of the rivulet glancing; She dances here and she dances there, The glimmering, glittering flutterer fair. Full many a beetle with loud applause Admires her dress of azure gauze, Admires her body's bright splendour, And also her figure so slender ...
I feel the fluttering
of dragonflies - summer creatures
that have no use for words.
The stars are not afraid to appear like fireflies.
A stray fact: insects are not drawn to candle flames, they are drawn to the light on the far side of the flame, they go into the flame and sizzle to nothingness because they're so eager to get to the light on the other side.
Dragons. A sky full of dragons.
Flies are the price we pay for summer.
The careful insect 'midst his works I view,
Now from the flowers exhaust the fragrant dew,
With golden treasures load his little thighs,
And steer his distant journey through the skies.
Little jointed stringy things the shape of tadpoles drifted across his vision. He had to keep blinking his eyes to get rid of them, but soon they drifted back.
The moths look like souls in the underworld,
The sky was of the deepest blue, with a few white, fleecy clouds drifting lazily across it, and the air was filled with the low drone of insects or with a sudden sharper note as bee or bluefly shot past with its quivering, long-drawn hum, like an insect tuning-fork.
Insects all business all the time.
FIREFLAKES: The stars; as transitory as snowflakes only their transitoriness is protracted.
The mosquitoes were a formidable enemy, coming in thick clouds so dense as to be almost palpable, obscuring each man's vision of those near him. The insects buzzed and whined around them, clinging to every part of their bodies, getting into ears and nose and mouth.
They won'y hurt me, right?"
"Right," he said.
"You're probably then times more dangerous than fireflies are"
Dangerous. The word made his heart spike.Something told him that was what this girl was
a danger to his fucking sanity.
One was to sting me," he thought, "I should swell up as big again as I am!" They were bigger than hornets. The drones were bigger than your thumb, a good deal, and the bands of yellow on their deep black bodies shone like fiery gold.
Hundreds of butterflies flitted in and out of sight like short-lived punctuation marks in a stream of consciousness without beginning or end.
river, small green flames, red flames, white flames, pursuing,
Bone-white moths drop one by one to cover cuts on Odette's legs and obscure mud-water splotches patterning her skirts. They rest at the bases of her fingers like heaving white jewels on rings lighter than air.
These flies were half the size of my fist. They came at you and stuck to you with a single-minded purpose you had to admire. We were hopelessly outnumbered, but we still slapped and kicked and karate-chopped ourselves until we reached an uneasy truce.
A dragonfly arrives and leaves like a change of mind.
What may look normal to a spider , will look like a chaos to a mosquito.
Outside our small safe place flies mystery.
Flies are the dead man's revenge.
Over them, in a swaying, muddy mist, hung the flies, snoring on a single note.
[Insects] are not only cold-blooded, and green- and yellow-blooded, but are also cased in a clacking horn. They have rigid eyes and brains strung down their backs. But they make up the bulk of our comrades-at-life, so I look to them for a glimmer of companionship.
To insects--sensual lust.
They open their wings, flash patterns and color, fly from flower toflower. I, with the dark brittles and many feet of the former form, inchalong the ground.
Sometimes all I want is two armfuls of air, a fistful of sky.
The mosquitoes. Tearing at him, clouds of them, the awful, ripping, thick masses of the small monsters trying to bleed him dry.
I try to catch flies in cups and put them outside. After I wrote 'The Underland Chronicles' ... well, once you start naming cockroaches, you lose your edge.
about the biting white ants that moved in menacing ribbons over the plains, or the vipers or the sun, which sometimes pulsed so brightly it seemed to want to flatten you or eat you alive.
dropping spiders
I looked around for a fly to kill
Like a glowworm golden, in a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden its aerial blue Among the flowers and grass which screen it from the view.
The wood lay still. The air throbbed with insects, and flies hovered and disappeared and hovered. Meadowsweet grew in a mist of flowers, and the sun glinted on the threads of caterpillars which hung from the trees as thick as rain. "By," said Gwyn, "there's axiomatic.
Things without defense: insects, kittens, small boys.
If you're an insect, then you're a mayfly. Here for a day and then gone.
It is impossible to grasp another human's inner world. But even in the darkness of the densest forest, there can always be the light of a firefly.
Dragonflies didn't imagine they could sense the future; they just flew about, enjoying the sun on their wings.
If I could store lightnings in jars, I'd sell them to sick fireflies to light their way. Only they have nothing to pay for it with but life.
Invisible insects of diabolical activity swarm in this place. I am tickled and twitched all over. Mentally, I have now committed a burglary under the meanest circumstances, and the myrmidons of justice are at my heels.
a cloud of black-and-orange butterflies for the Mullendores.
The follies of mankind; they are like a night without stars.
My mind is full of hornets.
If you stand a lantern under a tree every insect in the forest creeps up to it - a curious assembly, since though they scramble and swing and knock their heads against the glass, they seem to have no purpose - something senseless inspires them.
The insect-youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honied spring,
And float amid the liquid noon!
And the sun on the wall of her room, the block of sun with all the tiny flying things in it. When she was little she thought they were the souls of dead insects, still buzzing in the light.
Daisies opened in sly lust to the sun-rays and rain-spears, and eft-flies, locked in a blind embrace, spun radiantly through the glutinous light to their ordained death.
Eyes of gentianellas azure,
Staring, winking at the skies.
The night stank and was loud with flies.
What are they called? Sprackles, shakums, edible sequins, glossy sugar deedeebobs, I don't know. Instead of sprinkling them on a cookie, I sprinkle them on Angel de la Guarda.
And when white moths were on the wing and moth-like stars were flickering out
I was making pancakes the other day and a fly flew into the kitchen. And that's when I realized that a spatula is a lot like a fly swatter. And a crushed fly is a lot like a blueberry. And a roommate is a lot like a fly eater.
The famous jack-o-lantern mushroom, which glows at night with a greenish phosphorescent ligh called foxfire.
Of all bugs, growing up I just loved the pill bugs. They roll up, you play with them, you wait for them to open up, and then when you touch them they roll up again. I just love that.
Who when examining in the cabinet of the entomologist the gay and exotic butterflies, and singular cicadas, will associate with these lifeless objects, the ceaseless harsh music of the latter, and the lazy flight of the former - the sure accompaniments of the still, glowing noonday of the tropics.
The flies have conquered the flypaper.
A few lantern bugs were coming out, their little lights blinking on and off. The green water was warm as tears, but there was no salt in it. It tasted of summer and mud and growing things.
I wish these flies would piss off.
If it were not for our conception of weights and measures we would stand in awe of the firefly as we do before the sun.
Toads, beetles, bats.
Amid thy desert-walks the lapwing flies, And tires their echoes with unvaried cries.
Hurt no living thing: Ladybird, nor butterfly, Nor moth with dusty wing.
You might have seen a housefly, maybe even a superfly, but I bet you ain't never seen a donkey fly! Ha, ha!
Mosquitoes bite you as if they are in some kind of love with you.
Black smoke, the flickering sister of fire.
They're disgusting. Those papery wings and their stupid bug bodies ...
Thoughts were zipping around my head like fireflies in a jar, bumping into each other, blinking on and off.
Flapping crows. Shiny beetles crawling in the undergrowth. A patch of sky, frozen in a cloudy retina, reflected in a puddle on the ground. Yoo-hoo. Being and nothingness.
A squalid phantasmagoria of breath
Glow-worms on the ground are moving, As if in the torch-dance circling.
Dust floats through the feeble beam of the flashlight: ten thousand particles, turning softly, twinkling.
He lights the violin and his mouth fills with fireflies.
A little while, their hunger unfulfilled,
The mothlike worlds flit 'round the guttering sun.
("Ephemera")
Insects are my secret fear. That's what terrifies me more than anything - insects.
It is astonishing how much worse one mosquito can be than a swarm. A swarm can be prepared against, but one mosquito takes on a personality - a hatefulness, a sinister quality of the struggle to the death.
The skies are painted with unnumber'd sparks,
They are all fire and every one doth shine
The fly was on my desk, his hose in the candy dust. I cupped my hand and covered him, then brushed him past the edge to see where he'd go. He returned to the dust, as if I hadn't just demonstrated that I could kill him, as if I hadn't just shown him right there in the dust.
And you will never know how it feels to light up the sky. You will never know how it feels to be a firefly,
I no longer hated the whining, menacing dragonfly we rode in, but admired its grace as we surged towards the clouds, the lights of Edinburgh twinkling below us like the starry constellations of a world upside down.
Memories are like fireflies darting across the surface of my mind, showing me here and there images so sharp and vivid that I catch my breath in wonder before the vignette disappears, sinking like a pebble into the quicksand of regret and recrimination.
We stepped carefully, so softly, over thorny plants. The dust had turned to mud, splattering our shoes, socks, and legs. By the time we reached the boat, our clothes were clinging to our flesh and stained with the bloody remains of mosquitoes.
I'm huge fan of 'Timeflies.'
The cicadas pierce the air with their searing one-note calls; dust eddies across the roads; from the weedy patches at the verges, grasshoppers whir. The leaves of the maples hang from their branches like limp gloves; on the sidewalk my shadow crackles.
Laughter layered the walls and clung to the dust mites, making them sparkle like lightning bugs in the daytime.
An itchy feeling began to work its way through my body, as though a thousand mosquitoes were circulating through my blood, biting me from the inside, making me want to scream, jump, squirm.
I ran.
What would be left of our tragedies if an insect were to present us theirs?
At some point, some insect has had sex with a leaf.