I go to books and to nature as the bee goes to a flower, for a nectar that I can make into my own honey.
Love without fear and trepidation is fire without flame and heat, day without sun, comb without honey, summer without flowers, winter without frost, sky without moon, a book without letters.
How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey all the day
From every opening flower!
It feels good, honey, but it isn't love.
Life and love are life and love, a bunch of violets is a bunch of violets, and to drag in the idea of a point is to ruin everything. Live and let live, love and let love, flower and fade, and follow the natural curve, which flows on, pointless.
You'll learn, honey. Love can be the best thing in life. And it can be the worst. The absolute worst.
Love is very fruitful both of honey and gall.
Ah! love and song are but a dream,
A flower's faint shade on life's dark stream.
Consider the honey-bee. Its treasure is nectar, obtained even from the chilly plant. It is not at the cost of the flower. In fact, its act of extracting honey contributes to the progress of the flowers. You need not learn from Kahlil Gibran, Marx or Gorbachev, not even from Gandhiji. Choose instead to learn your lesson from the honey bees as your silent partners: they will show you how to develop without destroying.
…an intellectual instinct which extracts the essence from the phenomena of life, as a bee sucks honey from a flower. In addition to study and reflections, life itself serves as a source.