Henry David Thoreau Quotes

O bees, sweet bees!" I said; "that nearest field Is shining white with fragrant immortelles Fly swiftly there and drain those honey wells.

Every bees hony is sweet.

The would-bees take their honey from the flowers of creation.

When was ever honey made with one bee in a hive?

The bee's life is like a magic well: the more you draw from it, the more it fills with water

All I knew about bees when I started to write 'The Secret Life of Bees' was that they can live in a wall of your house, and that they make this incredible thing that I loved.

It's wonderful to me that bees have this simple, age-old thing going on.

I don't mind bees and think we are all the better for having them around. I like the taste of honey.

My bees cover one thousand square miles of land that I do not own in their foraging flights, flying from flower to flower for which I pay no rent, stealing nectar but pollinating plants in return.

It takes a bee 10,000,000 trips to collect enough nectar to make 1 pound of honey.

The bee, though it finds every rose has a thorn, comes back loaded with honey from his rambles; and why should not other tourists do the same?

When the bee has gathered the dew of heaven and the earth's sweetest nectar from the flowers, it turns it into honey, then hastens to its hive. In the same way, the priest, having taken from the altar the Son of God (who is as the dew from heaven, and true son of Mary, flower of our humanity), gives him to you as delicious food.

The honey-bee's great ambition is to be rich, to lay up great stores, to possess the sweet of every flower that blooms. She is more than provident. Enough will not satisfy her, she must have all she can get by hook or crook.

Forget not bees in winter, though they sleep.

The little bee returns with evening's gloom, To join her comrades in the braided hive, Where, housed beside their might honey-comb, They dream their polity shall long survive.

Then there is that other appeal, the stronger one, of spending, during certain parts of the year, a ten- or twelve- hour working day with bees, which are, when all is said and done, simply a bunch of bugs. But spending my days in close and intimate contact with creatures who are structured so differently from humans, and who get on with life in such a different way, is like being a visitor in an alien but ineffably engaging world.

It takes a bee to get the honey out

Bees do have a smell, you know, and if they don't they should, for their feet are dusted with spices from a million flowers.

It is not the bee's touching on the flowers that gathers the honey, but her abiding for a time upon them, and drawing out the sweet.

A bee rose up from a sun-filled paper cup, off to make slum honey from some diet root beer it had found inside.

Even bees, the little almsmen of spring bowers, know there is richest juice in poison-flowers.

Beekeeping is farming for intellectuals.