Bee Quotes Page 2

All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair The bees are stirring, birds are on the wing, And Winter slumbering in the open air, Wears on his smiling face a dream of spring.

So when I say that I am a refugee, you must understand that there is no refuge.

Roll big blunts, a whole ounce of reefer Rocked that 'Black and Yellow' before Wiz Khalifa It's a killer bee color scheme

Save the trees, save the bees, save the whales, save those snails.

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.

The happiness of the bee and the dolphin is to exist.

For man it is to know that and to wonder at it.

Take the time to smell the roses. Sooner or later, you'll inhale a bee and die.

The Bee Gees were always heavily influenced by black music.

As a songwriter, it's never been difficult to pick up on the changing styles of music out there, and soul has always been my favourite genre.

Love is the bee that carries the pollen from one heart to another.

As a bee without harming the flower, its colour or scent, flies away, collecting only the honey, even so should the sage wander in the village.

As for rosemary, I let it run all over my garden walls, not only because my bees love it but because it is the herb sacred to remembrance and to friendship, whence a sprig of it hath a dumb language.

Honor all living things, for we are of the stag, and the salmon, and the bee;

so destroy not life, save it be to preserve your own.

Just as bees make honey from thyme, the strongest and driest of herbs, so do the wise profit from the most difficult of experiences.

A scar is never ugly. That is what the scar makers want us to think. A scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived.

If you are the lantern, I am the flame;

If you are the lake, then I am the rain; If you are the desert, I am the sea; If you are the blossom, I am the bee; If you are the fruit, then I am the core; If you are the rock, then I am the ore; If you are the ballad, I am the word; If you are the sheath, then I am the sword.

Birds do it, bees do it, even educated fleas do it; let's do it, let's fall in love.

Crowds of bees are giddy with clover Crowds of grasshoppers skip at our feet, Crowds of larks at their matins hang over, Thanking the Lord for a life so sweet.

You've never seen death? Look in the mirror every day and you will see it like bees working in a glass hive.

The peach-bud glows, the wild bee hums, and wind-flowers wave in graceful gladness.

When you're out to get the honey you don't go killing all the bees

When we have been to Holy Communion, the balm of love envelops the soul as the flower envelops the bee.

It is not the bee's touching of the flower that gathers honey, but her abiding for a time upon the flower that draws out the sweet. It is not he that reads most, but he that meditates most, that will prove the choicest, sweetest, wisest and strongest Christian.

Kids are without a doubt the most suspicious diners in the world.

They will eat mud (raw or baked) rocks, paste, crayons, ball-point pens, moving goldfish, cigarette butts, and cat food. Try to coax a little beef stew into their mouths and they look at you like a puppy when you stand over him with the Sunday paper rolled up.

The bees can abide no drones amongst them; but as soon as they begin to be idle, they kill them.

A rose dreams of enjoying the company of bees, but none appears.

The sun asks: “Aren’t you tired of waiting?” “Yes,” answers the rose, “but if I close my petals, I will wither and die.

I dreamt -- marvellous error! -- that I had a beehive here inside my heart.

And the golden bees were making white combs and sweet honey from my old failures.

I go to books and to nature as a bee goes to the flower, for a nectar that I can make into my own honey.

The pedigree of honey does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him is aristocracy.

If the bee disappeared off the face of the earth, man would only have four years left to live.

Oh that it were with me As with the flower;

Blooming on its own tree For butterfly and bee Its summer morns: That I might bloom mine hour A rose in spite of thorns. Oh that my work were done As birds' that soar Rejoicing in the sun: That when my time is run And daylight too, I so might rest once more Cool with refreshing dew.

To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee, One clover, and a bee, And revery. The revery alone will do, If bees are few.

Such simple instincts as bees making a beehive could be sufficient to overthrow my whole theory.

If honey bees become extinct, human society will follow in four years.

Bee to the blossom, moth to the flame; Each to his passion; what's in a name?

Stories have to be told or they die, and when they die, we can't remember who we are or why we're here.