How to extract its honey from the flower of the world. That is my everyday business. I am as busy as a bee about it. I ramble over fields on that errand and am never so happy as when I feel myself heavy with honey and wax. I am like a bee searching the livelong day for the sweets of nature.
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.
The bee's life is like a magic well: the more you draw from it, the more it fills with water
It's wonderful to me that bees have this simple, age-old thing going on.
No beehive. Beehives - we sort of put them - well, we revive them sometimes.
Every bees hony is sweet.
It takes a bee 10,000,000 trips to collect enough nectar to make 1 pound of honey.
A bee rose up from a sun-filled paper cup, off to make slum honey from some diet root beer it had found inside.
There is nothing to be found in a beehive that is not submerged in a bee. And yet you can search a bee forever with cyclotron and fluoroscope, and you will never find the hive.
It takes a bee to get the honey out
A multitude of bees can tell the time of day, calculate the geometry of the sun's position, argue about the best location for the next swarm. Bees do a lot of close observing of other bees; maybe they know what follows stinging and do it anyway.
