Moths Quotes

“The Moth don't care when he sees The Flame.
He might get burned, but he's in the game.
And once he's in, he can't go back, he'll
Beat his wings 'til he burns them black...
No, The Moth don't care when he sees The Flame. . .
The Moth don't care if The Flame is real,
'Cause Flame and Moth got a sweetheart deal.
And nothing fuels a good flirtation,
Like Need and Anger and Desperation...
No, The Moth don't care if The Flame is real. . . ”
― Aimee Mann

“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. . . .”
― Thomas Harris, The Silence of the Lambs

“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.”
― Roman Payne

“I discovered in nature the non utilitarian delights that I sought in art. Both were a form of magic, both were a game of intricate enchantment and deception.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Speak, Memory

“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!”
― Chris Colfer

“The streetlight outside my house shines on tonight and I'm watching it like it could give me a vision. James ain't talked ever and he looks at that streetlight like it was a word and maybe like it was a verb. James wanted to streetlight me and make me bright and beautiful so all the moths and bats would circle me like I was the center of the world an held secrets.”
― Sherman Alexie, The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven

“It was the moths that first revealed the change. Grey-tipped whispers in the moonlit night. Two or three here, a single one there. White ones slipping through the darkness, silent and seemingly harmless, but present. Growing in numbers until they erupted the quiet like flutters of falling ash. There was a music in their silence. The kind of music that attached itself to hums and vibrations in the waters of the earth.

The hums, the vibrations, all but imperceptible. With the dawn the moths vanished, leaving a broken land in their wake. The Elian River leaked out into fissures of streams and brooks that first appeared as watery cracks throughout the Faeran Valley. So small at first, we didn't recognize the difference.

But as the months and years passed, the Elian slipped further and deeper into the growing fractures of earth the moths had left. Trails of watery branches and veins that broke the ground until it couldn't sustain life any longer.

This is what we have against the Bremistans. The land is delicate now, brittle like old bones. And I fear it is aging beyond our ability to heal it....”
― Debi Cimo, Delicate The alchemy of Emily Greyson

“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.”
― Virginia Woolf, Street Haunting

“There are moths outside, ready to die for a light they crave but which is denied to them, shielded from them [...] Sometimes, in the midst of all I have been given, I watch the moths in us all. Everybody has a light which they think they cannot live without.”
― Alma Alexander, The Secrets of Jin-shei

“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.”
― A.G. Howard, Unhinged

“Clive convinced himself that it wouldn’t be long before we’d be able to predict all their [the moths] equations of cause and effect, then perhaps even map out each and every cell, and configure them in their entirety as robots, in terms of molecules, chemicals and electrical signals. And what fed this particular obsession was Pupal Soup.

If you cut through a cocoon in mid-winter, a thick creamy liquid will spill out and nothing more. What goes into that cocoon in autumn is a caterpillar and what comes out in spring is entirely different—a moth, complete with papery wings, hair like legs and antennae. Yet this same creature spends winter as a gray-green liquid, a primordial soup. The miraculous meltdown of an animal into a case of fluid chemicals and its exquisite re-generation into a different animal, like a stupendous jigsaw, was a feat that, far from putting off, fed Clive’s obsession. He believed it made his lifetime ambition easier because, however complex it might be, it was, after all, only a jigsaw, and to Clive, that meant it was possible. For all the chemicals required to make a moth were right there in front of his eyes, in the pupal soup.”
― Poppy Adams, The Sister

“Growing up, I was the champion of spiders and moths in my house, catching and releasing them for my mother at great personal risk.”
― John L. Monk, Kick

“I’ve always assumed the old men were just there, fixed, like lamps, but in love with their moths.”
― Tom Cardamone, Pacific Rimming

“I've been reading about moths," she said, to fill the silence.
"What have you read?"
Maggie shrugged. "They navigate by the light of the moon. They fling themselves into flames and electric lights because they think they're headed toward the moon's light."
"I guess they die in ecstasy then," Liam said.”
― Jodi Lynn Anderson

“ “My Peregrination Cap,” he grumbles, straightening his tie and vest while wavering on wobbly legs.
I gesture to the layer of moths crawling around on Gizmo’s roof. “We lost a few of them to the wind. Sorry.”
“Brilliant.” Scowling, Morpheus walks over and sweeps his hand across the insects, coaxing them to form the hat. They manage all but the brim. He puts it on anyway and turns to me.
I bite my cheeks in an effort not to laugh.
He narrows his eyes. “Don’t get too cheeky, little plum. Though your prank may have been irresistibly wicked, I’m still in the lead by a set of wings.” ”
― A.G. Howard, Unhinged

“The boy moths get fooled by a smell?
No, they get fooled by sex. All males do.”
― Brian K. Vaughan, Y: The Last Man - The Deluxe Edition Book Three

“She held the moth to the light. It was nearer brown than yellow,and she remembered having seen some like it in the boxes that afternoon.It was not the one needed to complete the collection,but Elnora might want it,so Mrs. Comstock held on. Then the Almighty was kind,or nature was sufficient,as you look at it,for following the law of its being when disturbed,the moth again threw the spray by which some suppose it attracts its kind,and liberally sprinkled Mrs. Comstock's dress front and arms. From that instant,she became the best moth bait ever invented. Every Polyphemus in range hastened to her,and other fluttering creatures of night followed. The influx came her way. She snatched wildly here and there until she had one in each hand and no place to put them. She could see more coming,and her aching heart,swollen with the strain of long excitement,hurt pitifully.She prayed in broken exclamations that did not always sound reverent,but never was a human soul more intense earnest.”
― Gene Stratton-Porter, A Girl of the Limberlost

“You have no hobby then?"
"Moths interest me, my lady.”
― Daphne du Maurier, Frenchman's Creek

“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.”
― Holly Black, How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories

“They're disgusting. Those papery wings and their stupid bug bodies...”
― Veronica Roth, Divergent

“The star collapsed behind us while the army of refugees dove like moths toward the last lit lamp in the universe.

Cheng Jingbo”
― Ken Liu, Invisible Planets: Contemporary Chinese Science Fiction in Translation

“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.”
― Elizabeth Inness-Brown, Burning Marguerite

“Perhaps there was nothing to be said, and there was nothing to be heard. Perhaps all we were destined to be were moths to the flame, burn ourselves out in the pursuit of the next light we saw. This light had burnt me out. And all I could do was wait till I rose, phoenix-like, only to be burnt again.”
― Kiran Manral, More Things in Heaven and Earth

“The Polyphemus moth never made it to the past; it crawls in that crowded, pellucid pool at the lip of the great waterfall. It is as present as this blue desk and brazen lamp, as this blackened window before me.”
― Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

“Moths," repeats Will. "You're afraid of moths?"

"Not just a cloud of moths," she says, "like...a swarm of them. Everywhere. All those wings and legs and..." She shudders and shakes her head.

"Terrifying," Will says with mock seriousness. "That's my girl. Tough as cotton balls."

"Oh, Shut up.”
― Veronica Roth, Divergent

“She blew across the moth's back. 'Please,' she whispered to the moth, 'find me what I need to help my sister.'

Its wings shivered. For a moment the black lines seemed to rearrange themselves, forming letters, words, sentences. Then it spread its wings and flew.”
― T. Kingfisher, Nettle & Bone

“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.”
― Holly Black, The Cruel Prince

“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.”
― Holly Black, The Cruel Prince

“Papery moths fly above our heads, circling up as though tragically drawn to the light of the stars.”
― Holly Black, The Wicked King

“Queen Annet sits on a throne covered in powdery white moths, each one fluttering its wings a little, giving the whole thing the effect of a moving carpet.”
― Holly Black, The Stolen Heir