Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Moth Eaten. 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 Moth Eaten Quotes And Sayings by 89 Authors including Cat Patrick,Dennis Vickers,Camille Alexa,Swami Vivekananda,F Scott Fitzgerald for you to enjoy and share.
...quickly, he was eaten by the shadows.
Abandoned like an empty beer bottle, cigarette butt, worn-out shoe.
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.
Moths like me die by the thousands every minute. Her work goes on all the same. Glory unto Mother! ...
He dispensed starlight to casual moths.
The summer of the gypsy moths when all the trees in their yard were bare, the leaves chewed by caterpillars. You could hear crunching in the night. You could see silvery cocoon webbing in porch rafter and strung across stop signs.
Love eats everything!
Are you eating it? Or is it eating you?
He was a bee in a stone honeycomb, and someone had cut off his wings.
He hath eaten me out of house and home.
I am sorry to shock you," she said. "But the moth eats the garment somewhat in five-and thirty years.
Look or be devoured.
The night was drawing in, and the house felt more and more like a glass cage, blasting its light blindly out into the dusk, like a lantern in the dark. I imagined a thousand moths circling and shivering, drawn inexorably to its glow, only to perish against the cold inhospitable glass.
...what the Man-Moth fears most he must do..
I am the moth and he is the flame, and I'm going to get burned. I know.
Where dost thou careless lie, Buried in ease and sloth? Knowledge that sleeps, doth die; And this security, It is the common moth, That eats on wits and arts, and oft destroys them both.
What was the power that turned the worm into a moth? It was greater than any power the Builders had had, he was sure of that. The power that ran the city of Ember was feeble by comparison ...
Unleavened Bread, all
I am but as the spark that gleams for a moment,
His burning candle consumed me - the moth;
His wine overwhelmed my goblet,
The master of Rum transmuted my earth to gold
And set my ashes aflame.
pickled in formaldehyde and painted like a whore, / Shrimp-pink incorruptible, not lost or gone before.
Moth: I gave you my life.
Flame: I allowed you to kiss me.
She was drawn to damaged souls like a moth to a flame.
These kissed life on the mouth - and were eaten.
Her eyes ate me.
Poor, darling fellow - he died of food. He was killed by the dinner table.
A fly, a grape-stone, or a hair can kill.
Like foxes to a dustbin,
Moth to a flame I follow.
How can you eat anything with eyes?
They watched her sit, holding the bundle up before her, the lamp just at her elbow belabored by a moth whose dark shape cast upon her face appeared captive within the delicate skull, the thin and roselit bone, like something kept in a china mask
Bury me and I'll thrive as countless insects.
I bend neither to your weapon nor will.
Even as you trample upon my bones I cower not under your soulless tread, or fear your shadow casting upon my grave.
Life is a frail moth flying Caught in the web of the years that pass.
After 12 years, the old butterflies came back. Well, I guess at my age you call them moths.
In the blink of an eye my beauty becomes but a feast for worms, and I, a forgotten sigh in a sea of nothingness.
A giant caterpillar, its segmented body made of severed human heads, their faces screaming, their tongues functioning as legs, rippled up a wall and began tearing out chunks of concrete where a ledge had been worn, destroying another shrine.
Words betrayed her: beautiful butterflies in her mind; dead moths when she opened her mouth for their release into the world.
Blind and naked as an unearthed mole, uncomprehending.
expelled from the garden.
Thy food is such
As hath been belch'd on by infected lungs.
I've always assumed the old men were just there, fixed, like lamps, but in love with their moths.
loud laughter mixed with the chirp of crickets. A moth hit
I tattered their wings and tore off their legs, joint by joint, watched them crawl in circles, like little lost infants, untill they decide to die.
There was a moth in there, and it still had its wings crumpled up, and it was just starting to pump its wings up. Life continues in lots of places, and life is a magical thing.
Death devours all lovely things.
My legs, arms, torso, underarms, and parts of my eyebrows have been stripped of the stuff, leaving me like a plucked bird, ready for roasting.
Vile worm, thou wast o'erlook'd even in thy birth.
Without a use this shining woman lived - Or did she only live to be at death the food of worms.
Guess you didn't get eaten the way you wanted, eh?
Moths must fly to his flame and perish gladly.
It's an amazing thing to watch a lizard fold a moth into its mouth, like a sword swallower who specialises in umbrellas.
As a moth gnaws a garment, so doth envy consume a [person].
You fuck - you ate my cat!
What kind of maggot grows in the corpse of a day?
The curtain of the universe is moth-eaten, and through its holes we see nothing now but mask and ghost.
Even the reeking dark in the lion's cage seemed precious and infinitely preferable to whatever lay beyond. She would go out like the flame of a candle. Where does the candle flame go when the candle is blown out?
She laid her painted face against the iron bars and bared her teeth at death.
being disappeared who was protected by none, dear to none, interesting to none, and who never even attracted to himself the attention of those students of human nature who omit no opportunity of thrusting a pin through a common fly, and examining it under the microscope.
Father, the dark moths crouch at the sills of the earth, waiting.
Being kissed on the back of the knee is a moth at the windowscreen ...
they chewed on the cud.
The place smelled of mildew and rot. What
Rotten like fish eyes in a barrel.
The moth unwitting rushes on the fire, Through ignorance the fish devours the bait, We men know well the foes that lie in wait, Yet cannot shun the meshes of desire.
Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that were.
Eaten bread is forgotten.
Hurt no living thing: Ladybird, nor butterfly, Nor moth with dusty wing.
She looked defeated, a castle stormed, torn down, with no one living inside. She looked like a hollowed-out creature, only shell and no soul.
How, like a moth, the simple maid Still plays around the flame!
Do not look for my heart any more; the beasts have eaten it.
All was taken away from you: white dresses, wings, even existence.
A squalid phantasmagoria of breath
Caterpillar dun' become butterfly-caterpillar die so butterfly can be. A new thing. We all must let ourselves die to be what we will be. But we cling to what we know.
Some weasel took the cork out of my lunch.
Flies are the dead man's revenge.
All creative effort - including the making of an omelet - is preceded by destruction.
Whence we see spiders, flies, or ants entombed and preserved forever in amber, a more than royal tomb.
The black insect-dead eyes in her suety, pockmarked face gaze at him
I was trapped in admiration for what I had once admired, as a fly in amber remains the captive of some long-vanished pine.
The problem with my eyes is that they have been famished, but now they are feasting.
What feeds me destroys me.
Reader, I ate him.
I have a little brown cocoon of an idea that may possibly expand into a magnificent moth of fulfilment ...
Look at the woebegone walk of him. Eaten a bad egg. Poached eyes on ghost.
His wits have gone dark as his eyes
mashed into a casserole of wreckage that still smoked and burned.
ran on blindly into the blind dark.
Mashed-in nose, half of one ear missing, eyes the color of rotting squash.
The bats inebriate the sky . . .
Everything had a battered, trampled-on look, as though the place had just been visited by some large violent animal.
Unsound minds like unsound Bodies, if you feed, you poyson.
[Unsound minds, like unsound bodies, if you feed, you poison.]
His mouth had been used as a latrine by some small creature of the night, and then as its mausoleum.
Frightfully pale and perpetually odd
preferably left buried in
The caterpillars of the commonwealth,
Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.
What nourishes me also destroys me
Things are so vulnerable to the humiliations of decay.
my eye lest I be invaded by
The blind eate many a flie.
[The blind eat many a fly.]
There was an air of decay that enveloped the property as if it had been kissed by dead lips glossed with mildew.
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.
This thing all things devours:
Birds, beasts, trees, flowers;
Gnaws iron, bites steel;
Grinds hard stones to meal;
Slays king, ruins town,
And beats high mountain down.