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Moths Quotes

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Moths Quotes

“And running through his story, from adolescence to adulthood, always by moonlight, but bright as the sun, there was Charissa. But this was a different Charissa to the one he thought he knew; that fierce and cynical Moth girl, loyal only to herself. Here was Charissa as a girl, hopeful and filled with laughter. Here, as an adolescent, wise one moment, childish the next. Here, she glanced out from the pages as an adult, a lover, a friend; dancing in the firelight, poised against the starry sky. Here, she was trusting, loving, unmasked, gentle and filled with confidences. Here, by the light of the full moon, she was not only beautiful, she was by far the most beautiful woman Tom had ever seen. And now Tom Argent realized what he should have guessed before, what he should have seen in her eyes while he had been dazzled by someone else. She was the girl on the bridge, the one who had kissed him so tenderly. Hers was the shine he had recognized, reflected in Vanessa. She had been the memory contained in the flower seller's gift, the flower that only blossoms once, like innocence--- Like true love.”

True LoveMothsMemories Of LoveCharissa
Book:The Moonlight Market
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“When I was small, my mother told me that moths were butterflies that had been banished to the night, where they lived tortured lives dreaming of the day. In this way she explained why they sacrificed themselves to flame; it was both an end to their suffering and a reunion with the light they longed for. The parable, of course, was meant to warn me against wanting what I should not have.”

SacrificeButterfliesFlameMothsParable
Book:Burning Marguerite
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“He stalked back to the enormous moth, but it wouldn't return him to Elfhame until he went to a nearby general store, glamoured leaves into money to buy it an entire six-pack of lager, and then poured the booze into a frothing puddle on the ground for the creature to lap at.”

FunnyFantasyHolly BlackThe Folk Of The AirCardan GreenbriarCardanMothsMagical CreaturesMoth
Book:How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories
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“The possibilities of pleasure seemed that morning so enormous and so various that to have only a moth's part in life, and a day moth's at that, appeared a hard fate, and his zest in enjoying his meagre opportunities to the full, pathetic. He flew vigorously to one corner of his compartment, and, after waiting there a second, flew across to the other. What remained for him but to fly to a third corner and then to a fourth? That was all he could do, in spite of the size of the downs, the width of the sky, the far-off smoke of houses, and the romantic voice, now and then, of a steamer out at sea. What he could do he did.”

LifePossibilityMoths
Book:Street Haunting
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“The young Prince arrived in this world, lost and very frightened. The thread he had followed was broken, and he had no means of spinning another. His friend, the Spider Mage, was too far away to hear his cries, and this world of cruelty and noise was too much for him. Even the air was unbreathable. And so he crept into World Below, and wept to himself in the darkness. As he wept, his grief was so great that he broke into a cloud of butterflies and moths, each one a fragment of himself, that scattered into the darkness of the tunnels beneath the city. Some of them found their way to the light. Others stayed in the darkness. Some slept. And they became two separate groups-- one living underground, one in the light, both yearning for the world they had left, and for the chance to be whole again.”

FragmentsButterfliesMothsLost Prince
Book:The Moonlight Market
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“You were always the King of Much Too Late.' 'And you were always the Queen of my heart,' said Burnet, and held out his arms to her. For a second, Vanessa said nothing. Her angry profile was turned away; her dark hair shimmered silver. Burnet put his arms around her, and for a moment, she turned her face into the curve of his shoulder... Then the air gave a giant sob, as if rushing in to fill a space, and the interlaced pair dispersed into dazzling fragments. Millions of butterflies and moths exploded into the turbulence, fluttering madly to escape; bright wings torching the London smoke into a cacophony of colors. Golden-winged and orange-tipped; peacock-eyed and painted; speckled, stippled, spotted; striped; fretting the kaleidoscope air. And then, they slowly began to dissolve like smoke into the atmosphere.”

ButterfliesMothsKing And QueenReunited Lovers
Book:The Moonlight Market
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“This story isn't over.' He pulled again at the loose thread, winding it around his thumb. The thread was long and silvery, like a thread of moonlight. Spider's skillful fingers teased and pulled on the delicate thread. And as they did so, the Daylight Folk gradually became aware of the cloud of butterflies and moths returning. Softly, they settled onto the stones and terracotta tiles of the roof. Softly, they settled onto the stones of the parapet where Spider sat. Softly, they clustered and blossomed and bloomed, hanging like grapes in the luminous air-- and soon the onlookers started to see a figure-- no, two figures-- taking shape among them. For a moment, it was impossible to see more than an outline. But as the shapes became clearer, the Daylight Folk were able to see a man and a woman, hand in hand. Their faces were almost familiar, and yet not quite the same as before: the woman small-featured and freckle-faced; the man dark-haired and soulful. Each of them was staring at the other in amazement. 'Tom?' said Charissa. 'Charissa?' said Tom.”

ButterfliesMothsKing And QueenNew Leaders
Book:The Moonlight Market
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“He had become aware of the eyes of the Daylight Folk on him. Hopeful, expectant, suspicious or dazed, they watched him from the parapet and from the crenellations of the Natural History Museum, their wings spread like banners against the sky. And now he could see the Midnight Folk, too, drawn by whatever mystery had been at work on these rooftops: Atlas, and Luna, and Diamondback, and Cinnabar. For a moment, Cinnabar stood aloof on the parapet. Then Brimstone held out his hand to her, and she went to join him. My people, Tom thought to himself, and put up his hand to cover a smile. It was ridiculous, of course, and yet it felt so natural. As natural as being in love. As natural as flying. Spider pulled at the silver thread again. Between his fingers, Tom now saw an intricate cat's cradle of light that seemed to extend in multiple directions. 'With this, you can go anywhere,' said Spider, lifting the cradle of light. 'You could stay here, in London Before. You could go back to the London you know. Or you could reclaim your Kingdom, and lead your people home. Your choice.' He passed the cat's cradle over Tom's head. As it touched him, the net of light settled over Tom's shoulders, becoming a kind of mantle: golden, soft as spider silk, light as woven thistledown. He made the same gesture over Charissa, and she too was draped in gossamer. And with the mantle came a scent of green woods and of summertime; of distant spices, unnamed blooms, and blackberries, and honeycomb.”

SubjectsButterfliesMothsScentsCats CradleKing And QueenMantle
Book:The Moonlight Market
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“Modern science has since discovered the positive effect of an infusion of salt on the nervous system, and for lactating mammals, but a tiny male moth with a huge appetite for salt also seems to back the notions of the ancient Greeks--- that salt is a key ingredient for successful sex. The male Gluphisia moth spends most of his short life accumulating enough salt to give his mate a nuptial gift of sodium. This act is achieved by "puddling," or sucking from pools of standing water or moist ground for several hours at a time and squirting out the liquid in strong jets. The process is nothing if not a test of endurance, with the most virile moths squirting out 4,325 jets, or 600 times their bodyweight. The moth only takes in sodium, expelling other nutrients like potassium. The act raises the moth's sodium levels to eight times that of the nonpuddling Gluphisia. Ultimately, the former will give half of this sodium to a mate in a reproductive act by incorporating the sodium into spermatophore, a present of nutrients, protein, and sperm that supplies the female with enough sodium to pass on to her larvae.”

SexSaltReproductionMothsSodiumEntomology
Book:The Best American Food Writing 2023: Eye-Opening Essays on Culture, Inequality, and Justice
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“Taryn is beautiful in her heavily embroidered dress, and Vivi radiant in soft violet grey with artfully sewn moths seeming to fly from her shoulder across her chest to gather in another group on one side of her waist. I realise how rarely I've seen her in truly splendid clothes. Her hair is up, and my earrings glitter in her lightly furred ears. Her cat eyes gleam in the half light, twin to Madoc's. For once, that makes me smile.”

DressesHolly BlackThe Folk Of The AirJude DuarteThe Cruel PrinceMothsTaryn DuarteTarynVivi DuarteVivi
Book:The Cruel Prince
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“He doesn't fall like the others. Instead of blood pouring from his wound, red moths stream out, in to the air. They rush out of him so quickly that in a moment, the High King's body is gone and there are just those red moths, swirling up in to the air in a vast cloud, a tornado of soft wings. But whatever magic made them does not last. They begin to fall until they are scattered across the dais like blown leaves. The High King Eldred is, impossibly, dead.”

DeathFantasyHolly BlackDeadThe Folk Of The AirThe Cruel PrinceMothsHigh KingEldred
Book:The Cruel Prince
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“They waited for the elevator. " Most people love butterflies and hate moth," he said. "But moths are more interesting - more engaging." "They're destructive." "Some are, a lot are, but they live in all kinds of ways. Just like we do." Silence for one floor. "There's a moth, more than one in fact, that lives only on tears," he offered. "That's all they eat or drink." "What kind of tears? Whose tears?" "The tears of large land mammals, about our size. The old definition of moth was, 'anything that gradually, silently eats, consumes, or wages any other thing.' It was a verb for destruction too. . . .”

MothsThomas HarrisSilence Of The Lambs
Book:The Silence of the Lambs
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“Conner raised an eyebrow. 'Who told you that?' 'Well,' she said, not knowing how to describe what she experienced. 'Um . . . a moth did.' Conner squinted at her and his mouth fell open. He was expecting a much better answer than that. 'A moth told you?' 'Yes -- but it wasn't a regular moth, it was more like an angel.' 'An angel moth?' 'Well, it came from somewhere in the stars. I think Grandma sent it.' 'Grandma sent you an angel moth from outer space?' 'Kind of! Anyway, the moth took me to a forest and then turned into a bunch of orbs that re-created a memory -- stop looking at me like that, Conner!”

MagicSarcasmAfterlifeTwinsAngelsFairiesMothsHilarityThe Land Of StoriesAlex BaileyConner BaileyMessages From Beyond The GraveDubious SanityThe Fairy Godmother
Author:Chris Colfer
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“I used to be a poet. My words were traded in marketplaces like pieces of gold. Merchants bought my verses for as much as they paid for saffron and Indian jade. Now I am old... drunk on wine and candle fumes. Alone in this barren room, I speak my psalms to the night air so as to entertain moths before they go off to die. I used to be a poet and my words were gold.”

PoetryMoneyGriefLonelinessAmbitionGoldAgingIndianOld ManAgeingBeautiful LifeLamentMothsPsalmsLonlinessExchangingRoman PayneJadeExchangeCandlesSaffronPoeticsMarketplacesMinor PoemMinor PoetryOld Poet
Author:Roman Payne
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“I grin, and he beams with pride. “So what kind of hat is that?” I ask, unable to resist. He’s adorable when he’s showing off his wardrobe—like a puppy doing tricks. Although I remain cautious, knowing in the blink of an eye he can become a wolf again. “My Peregrination Cap,” he answers. “Huh?” His smile widens—baring white teeth. “Peregrination. An excursion … a journey.” “So, why don’t you just call it your traveling cap?” “Then it wouldn’t be much of a conversation starter, would it?” I raise an eyebrow. “Um, the fact that it’s made of living moths might give you something to talk about.” Morpheus laughs. For once our relationship feels comfortable, friendly.”

JourneyPrideFriendlyShowing OffAdorableMothsHatCapConversation StarterPeregrination
Book:Unhinged
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“We are a material-mad race of people. Build, increase, expand, pile up, hoard! More and more and more. "If we can just make enough money to-to- !" Jesus said: "Sell what ye have, and give alms; provide yourselves bags which wax not old, a treasure in the heavens that faileth not, where no thief approacheth, neither moth corrupteth."”

PeopleIfsGivingSaidEnoughJesusHeavenRaceMaterialsIncreaseMadSellsTreasureBagsThievesConsumerismOverconsumptionMothsAlms
Author:Eugenia Price
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“Fly away, pretty moth, to the shade Of the leaf where you slumbered all day; Be content with the moon and the stars, pretty moth, And make use of your wings while you may. . . . . But tho' dreams of delight may have dazzled you quite, They at last found it dangerous play; Many things in this world that look bright, pretty moth, Only dazzle to lead us astray.”

WorldLooksMayPlayUseDreamLastsFoundStarsDangerousThis WorldMoonWingsDelightShadeLeafsMothsFly AwayDazzle
Book:Songs, Ballads, and Other Poems
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“One night, a group of moths gathered on a shelf watching a burning candle. Puzzled by the nature of the light, they sent one of their members to go and check on it. The scouting moth circled the candle several times and came back with a description: The light was bright. Then a second moth went to examine it. He, too, came back with an observation: The light was hot. Finally a third moth volunteered to go. When he approached the candle he didn't stop like his friends had done, but flew straight into the flame. He was consumed there and then, and only he understood the nature of the light.”

DoneLightNightGroupsMembersUnderstoodThirdsHotChecksObservationBurningFlamesDescriptionCandleShelvesConsumedOne NightFlewMothsPuzzledScouting
Author:Elif Safak
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“The clock struck half past two. In the little office at the back of Mr. McKechnie's bookshop, Gordon--Gordon Comstock, last member of the Comstock family, aged twenty-nine and rather moth-eaten already--lounged across the table, pushing a fourpenny packet of Player's Weights open and shut with his thumb.”

LittlesTwoBookLastsPastHalfPlayerMembersOfficeWeightTwentiesTablesNineClockPushingThumbsMothsBookshops
Book:The complete works of George Orwell
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“A story demanded to be written, and that is why I have not answered your letter before: a wrong-headed story, that would come blundering like a moth on my window, and stare in with small red eyes, and I the last writer in the world to manage such a subject. One should have more self-control. One should be able to say, Go away. You have come to the wrong inkstand, there is nothing for you here. But I am so weakminded that I cannot even say, Come next week.”

WorldShouldSelfStoriesEyeAbleLastsNextWrittenWeekSubjectsRedWindowLettersShould HaveManageStaringGoing AwaySelf ControlNext WeekMothsRed Eye
Book:Letters
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