Books Quote by James Russell Lowell

Everything is destroyed by its own particular vice: the destructive power resides within. Rust destroys iron, moths destroy clothes, the worm eats away the…

— Menander

The better part of the man is soon ploughed into the soil for compost. By a seeming fate, commonly called necessity, they are employed,…

— Henry David Thoreau

Lists only spell out the things that can be taken away from us by moths and rust and thieves. If something is valuable, don't…

— Douglas Coupland

But the good deed, through the ages Living in historic pages, Brighter grows and gleams immortal, Unconsumed by moth or rust.

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

“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…

— Veronica Roth

Most cats feel that bird-catching is their duty; the instinct goes back to prehistoric times. Amber keeps in practice by chasing moths.

— Gladys Taber

We talked death with burned-up intensity, both of us drawn to it like moths to an electric light bulb. Sucking on it!

— Anne Sexton

We are all naturally seekers of wonders. We travel far to see the majesty of old ruins, the venerable forms of the hoary mountains,…

— Albert Pike

“And when white moths were on the wing and moth-like stars were flickering out”

— Anonymous

I love women. I love all the bright and attractive people and things of this world, the flame and also the moth, the dancer…

— Yves Saint Laurent

This is how moths speak to each other. They tell their love across the fields by scent. There is no mouth, the wrong words…

— Barbara Kingsolver

“In the warmer months of the year one or other of those nocturnal insects quite often strays indoors from the small garden behind my…

— W. G. Sebald

Pleasure's a Moth, that sleeps by day And dances by false glare at night; But Joy's a Butterfly, that loves To spread its wings…

— W. H. Davies

She was drawn to damaged souls like a moth to a flame.

— Anna McPartlin

Kill not the moth nor butterfly, For the Last Judgement draweth nigh.

— William Blake