Ladybug Quotes

Motherhood is a choice you make everyday, to put someone else's happiness and well-being ahead of your own, to teach the hard lessons, to do the right thing even when you're not sure what the right thing is...and to forgive yourself, over and over again, for doing everything wrong.

I am rather fond of ladybugs. They are so delightfully hemispherical.

Have you ever seen bugs trapped in amber?" "Yes." Billy, in fact, had a paperweight in his office which was a blob of polished amber with three lady-bugs embedded in it. "Well, here we are, Mr. Pilgrim, trapped in the amber of this moment. There is no why.

I wished for you," he whispered, so quietly that I struggled to hear. "What did that feel like? I've never made a wish in my life." My voice was as shaky as my words were stupid. "Everybody wishes for something, Charli." I put just enough space between us to be able to look at him. "Not me. I've saved them all up. Birthday candles, shooting stars, stray eyelashes...ladybugs. I've saved hem all up. I figure I'm owed hundreds of wishes now.

A brown spotted lady-bug climbed the dizzy height of a grass blade, and Tom bent down close to it and said, "Lady-bug, lady-bug, fly away home, your house is on fire, your children's alone," and she took wing and went off to see about it -- which did not surprise the boy, for he knew of old that this insect was credulous about conflagrations, and he had practised upon its simplicity more than once.

The Ladybug wears no disguises. She is just what she advertises. A speckled spectacle of spring, A fashion statement on the wing.... A miniature orange kite. A tiny dot-to-dot delight.

You have a color of your own- Dark chocolate, You have a culture your own- Hip pop, You have a revival of your own- Harlem Renaissance, You are the spot on a ladybug that adds its beauty, You are the pupil of an eye, You are the vastness of space, You are the richness of soil, You are the sweetness of dark chocolate, You are the mystery in nature, Blessed Black chocolate, God has made You to rule the Land, that made You a slave.

Mom says it's good luck if a ladybug lands on you. But club members do not think that is scientifically accurate.

Somehow, the days of summer with their glimmering enchantment of dancing ladybugs and sailing clouds had faded into grey. Maddie’s heart had somehow faded with it.

Sometimes, monsters are real,” Tess said, rolling over, leaving me alone with the ladybug staring up at me. “Even if they don’t look like monsters.

Then he glanced at Roar, who waited on the dock. Maverick had never heard him speak a word. He’d only seen Roar stare vacantly at the water, or at the sky. “You know, you could do a lot better than him, ladybug.” Aria shook her head. “No. I couldn’t.

Billy licked his lips, thought a while, inquired at last: "Why me?" "That is a very Earthling question to ask, Mr. Pilgrim. Why you? Why us for that matter? Why anything? Because this moment simply is. Have you ever seen bugs trapped in amber?" "Yes." Billy, in fact had a paperweight in his office which was a blob of polished amber with three lady-bugs embedded in it. "Well, here we are, Mr. Pilgrim, trapped in the amber of this moment. There is no why.

That is a very Earthling question to ask, Mr. Pilgrim. Why you? Why us for that matter? Why anything? Because this moment simply is. Have you ever seen bugs trapped in amber?' 'Yes' Billy, in fact, had a paperweight in his office which was a plop of polished amber with three ladybugs embedded in it. 'Well, here we are, Mr. Pilgrim, trapped in the amber of this moment. There is no why.

In terms of development, very young children are right-hemisphere dominant, especially during their first three years. They haven’t mastered the ability to use logic and words to express their feelings, and they live their lives completely in the moment—which is why they will drop everything to squat down and fully absorb themselves in watching a ladybug crawl along the sidewalk, not caring one bit that they are late for their toddler music class. Logic, responsibilities, and time don’t exist for them yet. But when a toddler begins asking “Why?” all the time, you know that the left brain is beginning to really kick in. Why? Because our left brain likes to know the linear cause-effect relationships in the world—and to express that logic with language.

Half the time your kids end up hating you for at least 5 of their teenage years[.] And don't ever expect anything so mundane as a thank you

I am not well-versed in theory, but in my view, the cow deserves her life. As does the ram. As does the ladybug. As does the elephant. As do the fish, and the dog and the bee; as do other sentient beings. I will always be in favor of veganism as a minimum because I believe that sentient beings have a right not to be used as someone else's property. They ask us to be brave for them, to be clear for them, and I see no other acceptable choice but to advocate veganism. If these statements make me a fundamentalist, then I will sew a scarlet F on my jacket so that all may know I'm fundamentally in favor of nonviolence; may they bury me in it so that all will know where I stood.

You’re not born with a walk like that. You have to earn it.

Okay, no more jokes about ladybugs making you their bitch.

Leap frog over the ladybug. Leap frog over the bee. ... then leap back home to me!

Anyone could buy a green Jaguar, find beauty in a Japanese screen two thousand years old. I would rather be a connoisseur of neglected rivers and flowering mustard and the flush of iridescent pink on an intersection pigeon's charcoal neck. I thought of the vet, warming dinner over a can, and the old woman feeding her pigeons in the intersection behind the Kentucky Fried Chicken. And what about the ladybug man, the blue of his eyes over gray threaded black? There were me and Yvonne, Niki and Paul Trout, maybe even Sergei or Susan D. Valeris, why not? What were any of us but a handful of weeds. Who was to say what our value was? What was the value of four Vietnam vets playing poker every afternoon in front of the Spanish market on Glendale Boulevard, making their moves with a greasy deck missing a queen and a five? Maybe the world depended on them, maybe they were the Fates, or the Graces. Cezanne would have drawn them in charcoal. Van Gogh would have painted himself among them.

The water shut off, and a second later Daemon came out with the sweats hanging low on his hips, and his skin was dewy, glistening. My eyes were fixated on his stomach and the drops of water running over the dips, disappearing under the band of the sweats. I was still only in a towel. And I was holding a box of condoms in my hand. My face was red as a ladybug. One dark eyebrow went up. My gaze fell to the box and then went back to him. “Confident, aren’t you?” “I’d like to call it being prepared for any occasion.” “Although, I am disappointed they don’t have little alien faces on them like everything else.” I choked on my next breath. “What kind of motel sells condoms?” “My favorite kind of motel?” ... “You’ve spent this entire time looking at this instead of eating something, haven’t you?

When someone you love becomes someone you can’t, it is the very worst kind of heartbreak. Goodnight, Ladybug.

She didn't want to imagine that her and Araragi's lives were under threat from someone who was a step below a ladybug on the IQ scale, whether it was true or not. It was true. As far as I knew.

I am convinced, both as psychoanalyst and as cantadora, that many times it is the things of nature that are the most healing, especially the very accessible and the very simple ones. The medicines of nature are powerful and straightforward: a ladybug on the green rind of a watermelon, a robin with a string of yarn, a weed in perfect flower, a shooting star, even a rainbow in a glass shard in the street can be the right medicine.

It has become something to her, that memory — something she can take out in dismal times and stare into like a crystal ball disclosing not presages but reminders. She holds it in her palm like a captured ladybug and thinks, Well ain’t I been some places, ain’t I partook in some glorious happenings wanderin my way between heaven and earth. And if I ain’t seen everything there is to see, it wasn’t for lack of lookin. Blind is the real dead.

Good morning, Ladybug,” Helmer said, his voice a guttural rasp, as though the air he used to speak was passing through a rusty old gate. “Good morning … Wasp?” Picket said. “Ha,” Helmer chuckled. “I like that. But you will call me Master, child.” “Yes, Masterchild,” Picket said. “Well, obviously you have a deep, soul-level need for humility,

People of the world, today always say, "Look up to the sky, look up to the sky", but while they do that, they trample on butterflies with broken wings and they step on ladybugs with broken legs. "Look up to the sky and be like God", they say; but nay, it is the nature of the mortal to cast his gaze upward, while it is the nature of the gods in the sky to cast their gaze downwards. When you are below, the way to look is up. When you are up, the way to look is down.

All my life, I thought I was this independent woman. I was on all the right committees, made speeches for all the right causes, traveled all over the world. I had my little part-time job, I made all my own decisions, but . . . there was always someone there to fall back on when things went bad. Funny, how after so many years of marriage you don’t think about how much you depend on the other person until . . . well, until they’re gone. And then of course there’s just the whole system in the city. Your doctor, your pharmacist, your plumber, your vet . . . there’s always someone there. You never have to find out . . . how much you can’t do.

That is a very Earthling question to ask, Mr. Pilgrim. Why you? Why us for that matter? Why anything? Because this moment simply is. Have you ever seen bugs trapped in amber?’ ‘Yes.’ Billy in fact, had a paperweight in his office which was a blob of polished amber with three ladybugs embedded in it. ‘Well, here we are, Mr. Pilgrim, trapped in the amber of this moment. There is no why.

The Mozart sonata Dad picked out begins to play. When we hear the first note, we open the sacks and the ladybugs escape through the opening, taking flight. It's as if someone has dumped rubies from heaven. Soon they will land on the plants in search of bollworm eggs. But right now they are magic-red ribbons flying over our heads, weaving against the pink sky, dancing up there with Mozart.

If I could really love, I would take away these tubes dripping lipids and glucose into your blood. I would liquefy the things you love and flood them through your veins: our sleeping dogs' rhythmic breathing, huge orange trumpets of the amaryllis we thought would never bloom, the crunch of the gravel road coming home. If I could really love, I would climb onto your narrow back and wrap myself around, guarding like a ladybug, or Achilles' mighty shield.

Gemma hadn’t noticed me until my shadow blocked the light. I lowered my finger and the ladybug flew down onto the page. “What’s his name?” She looked up and smiled suddenly. Gemma would get the craziest crushes on characters and would talk to me about them for days. I didn’t mind so long as they weren’t real.

We were partners in sewing. And partners in luck-hunting: four-leaf clovers, sand-dollar birds, red sea glass, clouds shaped like hearts, the first daffodils of spring, ladybugs, ladies in oversized hats. Best to bet on all the horses, dear, she’d say. Quick, make a wish, she’d say. I bet. I wished. I was her disciple. I still am.

By immersing yourself in nature, you can experience a form of enlightenment. This is when the soul is free of fear and absorbs, almost by osmosis, the energy of life.

Mothers have to pretend to be perfect[.] If we didn't, anarchy would rule the world. But most of the time we're just doing the best we can and trying to get better at it everyday

Joke: What did the young ladybug learn from her dance teacher in Ladybug Finishing School? Curtsy no flirtsy, Stand Tall not small, A lady must be a lady at the Ladybug Ball

Your little ladybug tried to seduce me with a cookie.

Raj: I don't like bugs, okay. They freak me out.
 Sheldon: Interesting. You're afraid of insects and women. Ladybugs must render you catatonic. #12

Because afterward, you left me. For seven years.” Austin kissed the top of my head. “Never again, Ladybug.

April days in Henrietta were quite often fair, tender things, coaxing sleeping trees to bud and love-mad ladybugs to beat against windowpanes.

I shouldn't squeeze a ladybug. She might fly right away.

History conditioned you for epic-scale calamity. Once, when she was studying the death tolls of battles in World War I, she'd caught herself thinking, Only eight thousand men died here. Well, that's not many. Because next to, say, the million who died at the Somme, it wasn't. The stupendous numbers deadened you to the merely tragic, and history didn't average in the tame days for balance. On this day, no one in the world was murdered. A lion gave birth. Ladybugs launched on aphids. A girl in love daydreamed all morning, neglecting her chores, and wasn't even scolded.

She was the quintessential twenty-first-century woman: She could build a high-rise in a Chanel suit and Jimmy Choos, give lessons in multitasking, and freeze the heart of the coldest competitor with a single unblinking gaze over the rim of her ebony-framed reading glasses. But that persona was like a bodysuit that she pulled on at eight in the morning and peeled out of at five in the afternoon.

You will turn yourself inside out. Your sadness will know no bounds. Ladybugs will flee you, wolves run wild in you. You will hear the wind chimes like shattering. The sun will drip ichor. Whatever peace you find will be taken from you. Nothing will be the same. Nothing has ever been the same. “Past performance does not guarantee future results,” you will whisper to the rising moon, as you hear several foxes fleeing your vicinity.

It’s different and bold. It stands out amongst a blank world of black, white, and gray. Orange is the early morning sun stretching across the sky and the color of a burning ember standing tall in the middle of a beach bonfire. It’s leaves in the fall, carrots in Nana’s vegetable soup on a cold winter day, tulips in the spring, and the ladybugs in the middle of the grassy park on a hot summer afternoon. Orange is life. It’s unexpected but beautiful.

Welcome aboard, Mr. Pilgrim,” said the loudspeaker. “Any questions?” Billy licked his lips, thought a while, inquired at last: “Why me?” “That is a very Earthling question to ask, Mr. Pilgrim. Why you? Why us for that matter? Why anything? Because this moment simply is. Have you ever seen bugs trapped in amber?” “Yes.” Billy, in fact, had a paperweight in his office which was a blob of polished amber with three ladybugs embedded in it. “Well, here we are, Mr. Pilgrim, trapped in the amber of this moment. There is no why.” ***

If I look at a forest from afar, I see a dark green velvet. As I move toward it, the velvet breaks up into trunks, branches and leaves: the bark of the trunks, the moss, the insects, the teeming complexity. In every eye of every ladybug, there is an extremely elaborate structure of cells connected to neurons that guide and enable them to live. Every cell is a city, every protein a castle of atoms; in each atomic nucleus an inferno of quantum dynamics is stirring, quarks and gluons swirl, excitations of quantum fields. This is only a small wood on a small planet that revolves around a little star, among one hundred billion stars in one of the thousand billion galaxies constellated with dazzling cosmic events. In every corner of the universe we find vertiginous wells of layers of reality.

This time of year, the purple blooms were busy with life- not just the bees, but butterflies and ladybugs, skippers and emerald-toned beetles, flitting hummingbirds and sapphire dragonflies. The sun-warmed sweet haze of the blossoms filled the air. "When I was a kid," said Isabel, "I used to capture butterflies, but I was afraid of the bees. I'm getting over that, though." The bees softly rose and hovered over the flowers, their steady hum oddly soothing. The quiet buzzing was the soundtrack of her girlhood summers. Even now, she could close her eyes and remember her walks with Bubbie, and how they would net a monarch or swallowtail butterfly, studying the creature in a big clear jar before setting it free again. They always set them free. As she watched the activity in the hedge, a memory floated up from the past- Bubbie, gently explaining to Isabel why they needed to open the jar. "No creature should ever be trapped against its will," she used to say. "It will ruin itself, just trying to escape." As a survivor of a concentration camp, Bubbie only ever spoke of the experience in the most oblique of terms.

Above them, stars shine in constellations that Jenny recognizes from the ceiling of her father's house, the ones Mom and Dad helped her put up when she was in third grade. Constellations with names like Fire Truck and Ladybug Come Home, constellations that you won't find in any astronomer's catalogue.

For about five minutes, as I tried to get the Vespa to start, I fell in love with her. The oversized raincoat made her look about eight, as though she should have had matching Wellies with ladybugs on them, and inside the red hood were huge brown eyes and rain-spiked lashes and a face like a kitten’s. I wanted to dry her gently with a big fluffy towel, in front of a roaring fire. But then she said, “Here, let me—you have to know how to twist the thingy,” and I raised an eyebrow and said, “The thingy? Honestly, girls.” I immediately regretted it—I have never been talented at banter, and you never know, she could have been some earnest droning feminist extremist who would lecture me in the rain about Amelia Earhart. But Cassie gave me a deliberate, sideways look, and then clasped her hands with a wet spat and said in a breathy Marilyn voice, “Ohhh, I’ve always dreamed of a knight in shining armor coming along and rescuing little me! Only in my dreams he was good-looking.” What I saw transformed with a click like a shaken kaleidoscope. I stopped falling in love with her and started to like her immensely. I looked at her hoodie jacket and said, “Oh my God, they’re about to kill Kenny.” Then I loaded the Golf Cart into the back of my Land Rover and drove her home.

Why you? Why us for that matter? Why anything? Because this moment simply is. Have you ever seen bugs trapped in amber?” “Yes.” Billy, in fact, had a paperweight in his office which was a blob of polished amber with three ladybugs embedded in it. “Well, here we are, Mr. Pilgrim, trapped in the amber of this moment. There is no why.

The work to protect one species benefits us all.

Acting compassionately creates happiness in our own lives

When you're on the path to do what's right, you're never alone.

To forgive is the highest, most beautiful form of love. In return, you will receive untold peace and happiness.” Robert Muller   Chapter

Sheriff Fox was running his fingers through his thin hair. In a few short years, he’d look bald as a peeled apple. The Snoop sisters and their sidekick, the town’s bag lady no less, had traipsed into his office without knocking first. His admin (he couldn’t remember their names to save his life) had ushered them in, and they’d just dumped this hot potato into his lap.

The medicines of nature are powerful and straightforward: a ladybug on the green rind of a watermelon, a robin with a string of yarn, a weed in perfect flower, a shooting star, even a rainbow in a glass shard in the street can be the right medicine. Continuance is a strange thing: it puts out tremendous energy, it can be fed for a month on five minutes of contemplating quiet water.

The history of the world will, one day, be defined by the people who witnessed the tragedy of impending extinction and were able to turn humanity's destructive patterns into creative solutions.

In a moment a fussy-looking woman came down the stairs. Do you know what I mean by fussy? I mean, everything about her was too much and too cute. She was wearing two necklaces, a pin, bracelets on each wrist, rings, earrings, and even an ankle bracelet. Her stockings were lacey, and she was, well, as Claud might have said, overly accessorized. Practically everything she wore had a bow attached. There were bows on her shoes, a bow on her belt, a bow in her hair, and a bow at the neck of her blouse. Her sweater was beaded, and she hadn’t forgotten to pin a fake rose to it. Whew! As for cute, her earrings were in the shape of ladybugs, one of her necklaces spelled her name — Linda — in gold script, her pin was in the shape of a mouse, and the bow in her hair was a ribbon with a print of tiny ducks all over it.

Petey Samson gave the ladies an over-the-shoulder glance. He realized no doggie treat was forthcoming, even from Isabel who was usually the soft mark to hit up. He scratched his front claws to re-attack the sand.

bulk of superstition that is supposed to attend good fortune, and when he wished for white shirts, it was not a genuinely modest wish so much as it was a memory—he could not have put it into words himself—that the gods of fortune are jealous and easily deceived by false modesty. He had never been a superstitious man, but on Tuesday he scooped the money off his coffee table and was elated when he saw a ladybug on the bathroom window sill.

...when the Gods finished creating woman, they stood back and looked at what they'd done. They had given her a body strong enough to run a marathon, a mind fast enough to do six things at once, a heart big enough to love even while it was breaking, hands that could paint a masterpiece or feed a family or write a symphony. And they were afraid, because they saw that what they made was stronger than they were. They knew they had to create a secret weapon, one thing they could use to destroy her. So they gave her children.

Picture a summer stolen whole from some coming-of-age film set in the small-town 1950s. This is none of Ireland's subtle seasons mixed for a connoisseur's palate, watercolor nuances within a pinch-sized range of cloud and soft rain; this is summer full-throated and extravagant in a hot pure silkscreen blue. This summer explodes on your tongue tasting of chewed blades of long grass, your own clean sweat, Marie biscuits with butter squirting through the holes and shaken bottles of red lemonade picnicked in tree houses. It tingles on your skin with BMX wind in your face, ladybug feet up your arm; it packs every breath full of mown grass and billowing wash lines; it chimes and fountains with birdcalls, bees, leaves and football-bounces and skipping-chants, One! two! three! This summer will never end. It starts every day with a shower of Mr. Whippy notes and your best friend's knock at the door, finishes it with long slow twilight and mothers silhouetted in doorways calling you to come in, through the bats shrilling among the black lace trees. This is Everysummer decked in all its best glory.

Life is rich. If you carefully observe a meadow, you realize that each plant is a different color of green, each ladybug is different from the other. Many of us know the anecdote of the man who photographed snowflakes and discovered that each one was different: thousands of millions of snowflakes, each one with its own shape. That is to say, everything is variety, difference. But, at the same time, everything communicates; we are united by secret threads. Life is a miraculous creation. All of reality is a pure union of mental and emotional threads.

A morning later, Nancy described her first dream, the first remembered dream of her life. She and Judy Thorne were on a screened porch, catching ladybugs. Judy caught one with one spot on its back and showed it to Nancy. Nancy caught one with two spots and showed it to Judy. Then Judy caught one with three spots and Nancy one with four. Because (the child explained) the dots showed how old the ladybugs were. She told this dream to her mother, who had her repeat it to her father at breakfast. Piet was moved, beholding his daughter launched intoanother dimension of life. Like school. He was touched by her tiny stock of imagery the screened porch (neither they nor the Thornes had one; who?), the ladybugs (with turtles the most toylike of creatures), the mysterious power of numbers, that generates space and time. Piet saw down a long amplifying corridor of her dreams, and wanted to hear her tell them, to grow older with her, to shelter her forever.” John Updike, Couples, 1968.

The biggest canvas is wider than my arm span. It’s bursting with so much color it looks like a graffiti artist got too excited with a spray can. But it’s my story, told in brushstrokes and acrylic paint. There's Jamie and me as children, hiding in trees and searching for ladybugs. There's me alone, searching for stars in the dark. There's my mom, the queen of the starfish, existing in a tornado of glitter that poisons anything else it touches. There are my brothers and me, living on opposite sides of a triangle, experiencing the same things but never together. There's my dad, never knowing or doing as much as he should but trying to fix the poison all the same. There's Hiroshi, painting my hands so I can paint my voice. There's me split in half—Japanese and white—stitching myself together again because I am whole only when I’ve embraced the true beauty of my heritage. And there's Jamie and me in June, the sun on our faces and the sand at our feet, finding each other again after all those years. Our lives trail around us, sometimes broken and sometimes beautiful, but all puzzled and tangled up into the lump that is us. We fit together not because we need each other, but because we choose each other. Our friendship was always our choice. Love was a natural progression. Jamie stares at the painting for so long that I think the room actually starts to get darker. When he turns to face me, he looks relieved. Calm. Jamie turns back to the painting. We don’t need words. We just know. Our fingers find each other’s.

Joke: What did the young ladybug learn from her dance teacher in Ladybug Finishing School? ~Curtsy no flirtsy, Tall not small, A lady must be a lady at the Ladybug Ball~ :)

All fine and good,” she whispered, after ensuring they were alone, “but how are we supposed to leave the house? Unlike you, I’m not part spider.” “But the spider is strong, and more than happy to carry a ladybug on his back on his way down.” She stared at him. “Now I know you’re mad. You can’t possibly carry me and climb down the building at the same time.” “I can, and I will.” He sounded utterly confident. “All you need to do is hold tight. Unless,” he added, “you want me to search the ruin on my own.” “Just tell me what to do,” she answered.

Solitude is a luxury for the lucky. For people who don’t have sick cats and lost ladybugs and very possibly dying loved ones to worry about. For people who don’t have to worry about getting their hands dirty with the everyday goo of ordinary suffering.

Daddy said, "At some point you will come to accept your limitations." "Do you accept yours?" I asked, with challenge in my voice. "But of course, Ladybug. That's what marriage teaches you.

Hundreds of ladybugs had taken shelter from the winter in the crevices of the decayed windows. From there, they broke into the apartment in commando squads. My joy at that first sighting of the ladybug spreading its lower winglets on the rim of the jam glass, flashing three spots of fortune, soon turned into something tragic and Greek, a bloodied slaughter. Like in Ajax, I had to pluck ladybugs from my toothbrush every evening and in the morning shake out my shirt that, overnight, was infested with too much luck, and at lunch, I'd fish kamikazee-ladybugs out of my soup bowl, their Etna's crater in the middle of the round kitchen table. When I shut my eyes and held the hose to my ear and heard the little crackle of tiny bodies sucked into the eye of the tornado, I couldn't remain neutral. Putting away the vacuum, I consoled myself with sentences of friends who, after a beer or three, like to repeat to me the axiom that sooner or later, living in the city, each person discovers himself to be the murder of his own happiness. They were genuine Berlin ladybugs, they'd occupied the windows illegally like my friends in apartments from which they were later evicted.

That is a very Earthling question to ask, Mr. Pilgrim. Why you? Why us for that matter? Why anything? Because this moment simply is. Have you ever seen bugs trapped in amber?' 'Yes' Billy, in fact, had a paperweight in his office which was a blob of polished amber with three ladybugs embedded in it. 'Well, here we are, Mr. Pilgrim, trapped in the amber of this moment. There is no why.

Another day the ladybugs arrive. Thousands of them, soaking up the sun on the back door. It’s an Indian summer day, warm, with temperatures in the upper sixties and plentiful sun.

On this day, no one in the world was murdered. A lion gave birth. Ladybugs lunched on aphids. A girl in love daydreamed all morning, neglecting her chores, and wasn’t even scolded.

The weeds turned into a jungle where spiders wolfed the ladybugs and wasps dive-bombed the spiders. A world where the new babies of one came from the dead bodies of others.

Welcome aboard, Mr. Pilgrim," said the loud-speaker. "Any questions?" Billy licked his lips, thought for a while, inquired at last: "Why me?" "That' is a very Earthling question to ask, Mr. Pilgrim. Why you? Why us for that matter? Why anything? Because this moment simply is. Have you ever seen bugs trapped in amber?" "Yes." Billy, in fact, had a paperweight in his office which was a blob of polished amber with three ladybugs in it. "Well, here we are, Mr. Pilgrim, trapped in the amber of this moment. There is no why.

Here are many of the most common default signs sent by the Other Side: Birds and butterflies Deer Electrical events (often with cellphones) Coins appearing in our path Rainbows Pictures Slogans Billboards Magazines License plates Street signs Music/songs Feathers Ladybugs Numerical sequences There is a reason the Other Side uses these things as signs: They tend to be easier for us to recognize—and easier for them to manipulate and put in our path.

I would have been there for you.” “I didn’t want to bring you down, Ladybug. You deserved better than me back then, and every day since. I may be a selfish man in a lot of ways, but never when it comes to you. I’ve always wanted the best for you, and I stand by that. You’re the best person I know.

Perhaps whites feel the same way about us as they do about ladybugs. A few are fine, but a swarm turns the stomach.

Place Message Here" I knew that somewhere Jesus wept. --Larry Brown, Dirty Work That was when our love began for me, though late, the way a flock of darkness settles over your shoulders. I remember the muted reflections that smudged the water prowling among the lingering rocks, a snail crawling out of its shell, the drizzle of light, the blackened windows. It was when that the sun peeled away the dark from the air, the surface of the water, then the soul. It was only then that I could read the shadows that followed our words. It seemed that the whole planet was taking aim at our future. I thought, then, that I could see your own soul in the constant waves tearing unconcerned at the impenetrable dunes. I wanted, then, to believe the moon is a flower, fragrant, its stem tossed across the water. It was then that I entered some other world, the way your life wakes suddenly in the middle of the night to find your own worn-out dreams lying in sheets around you, an empty bottle on the table, and yet some voice stumbling down the hallway of the wind trying the locked doors of the heart, calling out your name. It was then on that shore after I heard the news of my friend's heart tearing open like a wet paper bag. I was standing where Marconi sent his messages which seemed to fill the air, still, like swallows. There is always another life in the corner of our eyes, one that begins because our poor words have never said what we meant at the time. Today, here, ladybugs fill my porch screen trying to reach the early sun that radiates through the fine mesh. They halt there like messages never received, empty husks of some abandoned future we can never know. Why is it we love so fully what has washed up on the beaches of our hearts, those lost messages, lost friends, the daylight stars we never get to see? Bad luck never takes a vacation, my friend once wrote. It lies there among the broken shells and stones we collect, a story he would say begins with you, with me, a story that is forever lost among the backwaters of our lives, our endless fear of ourselves, and our endless need for hope, a story, perhaps an answer, a word suddenly on wing, the simple sound of a torn heart, or the unmistakable scent of the morning's fading moon. Richard Jackson, The Cortland Review. Spring 2005.

Welcome aboard, Mr. Pilgrim,’ said the loudspeaker. ‘Any questions?’ Billy licked his lips, thought a while, inquired at last: ‘Why me?’ ‘That is a very Earthling question to ask, Mr. Pilgrim. Why you? Why us for that matter? Why anything? Because this moment simply is. Have you ever seen bugs trapped in amber?’ ‘Yes.’ Billy, in fact, had a paperweight in his office which was a blob of polished amber with three ladybugs embedded in it. ‘Well, here we are, Mr. Pilgrim, trapped in the amber of this moment. There is no why.

People made things complicated, and complications were something, Ladybug had decided, she could do without.

Let's find out what we can do.

From Ladybug Girl on her personal Independence Day that launched this popular series: 'I'm not little,' she says. 'You're little.

Dangling from a silver chain was an intricate pendant of the Eiffel Tower. It wasn’t something fancy with jewels, but it was far more precious than any diamonds would have been. Nico knew how much I loved the art world and how desperately I yearned to go to Paris to see its famous artworks in person. “Someday, I’m going to show you the world, and this is my promise to you. We’ll see it all, Ladybug—Paris, Rome, Valencia—I’ll take you to every museum in the world if I can.” His words were so earnest and heartfelt, they brought tears to my eyes.

It’s good to see you, Ladybug,” he offered casually as if it had been days and not years since we’d seen one another.

Nothing came before my Ladybug. Even my own life.

The Australian jewel beetle has sex with beer bottles. The beetles are a light chocolate color with dimples all down their back and dark black legs and heads that peek out from underneath their carapeces. Their bodies are big and long instead of round, and they resemble cicadas more than they do ladybugs. The male Australian jewel beetle is hardwired to like certain aspects about the female jewel beetle. They like females to be big, brown, and shiny. The bottles they make love to are bigger, browner, and shinier than any female could ever hope to be. In Australia, a certain type of bottle called stubbies overstimulates male jewel beetles. In a trash heap filled with bottles, you will often see every single stubby covered in male jewel beetles trying to get it on. The stubbies are what evolutionary psychologists call supernormal releasers. They are superstimuli, better than the real thing. The beetles will mate with these bottles even while being devoured by ants.

Have they ever. Isabel never misses a trick. Anytime I step into their foyer, she’s dropping hints all over the place. Don’t get me wrong because I love both women dearly, and I enjoy playing a game or two of Scrabble, just not on every visit. Why can’t we play Monopoly for a change of pace? I love squeezing the play money in my fist and snapping up the swanky properties like Park Place and Boardwalk.

All around us that morning, the noise of the crickets was astounding, the squeak and whine of so many new bodies in the dark—they’d been multiplying since the slowing. All the bugs had. More and more birds were dying, and with so few of them left, everything smaller was thriving. More and more spiders were crawling on our ceilings too. Beetles emerged from bathroom drains. Worms slithered over the cement of our patios. One soccer practice was canceled when a million ladybugs descended on the field at once. Even beauty, in abundance, turns creepy.

AFTER THE CALL from Weather, Lucas showered and shaved, put a Band-Aid and some antiseptic on his index finger, above the knuckle, where he’d picked up a splinter earlier in the day, and put on some fresh clothes. He took ten minutes to vacuum up an accumulation of Asian ladybugs that had found their way through the windowless addition, and bagged up the garbage and trash. He called Jimi to tell her he’d be gone for a short time, no more than a few days.

& besides, I don’t design my smiles to be nets because I’m not fishing

Hi, ladybug.

How many times are we held back because we’re not good enough either? How many days are we discouraged because we don’t realize the extent of God’s grace? I’m not a perfect wife, but I cling to the verse in Proverbs 12:4, “A virtuous woman is a crown to her husband.” With joy I’m reminded that I’d rather be a crown than a trophy wife, and that I’d rather have virtue than vogue. Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies. – Proverbs 31:10 You’re so much more than just another pretty face; you’re deeply loved by a God Who numbers your hair. The same God who painted spots on ladybugs' backs, and lights up our skies with fireflies created you, redeemed you, and knows you by name. Have you surrendered your life to the Lord? Here’s merely a glimpse of who we become through His grace:

Van Wort was fat and his name was Van Wort. With that combination, why would you pack your kid off to camp? Let him play with ladybugs in the safety of his own lawn.

Vietminh aggression.” In the following months, Eisenhower began sending money and munitions to the French. In January of 1954, Eisenhower sent twenty five B-26 medium bombers to the French base at Dien Ben Phu along with spare parts and 200 mechanics to support them. By the end of March 1954, French forces continued to suffer huge losses at Dien Ben Phu and their Northern outposts. In spite of the influx of US military aid, they lost all their airfields and they had to parachute reinforcements and new supplies. The Vietminh continued major victories as they encircled Dien Ben Phu and its outlying outposts. The war was going very

And now a look at the financial markets. You will turn yourself inside out. Your sadness will know no bounds. Ladybugs will flee you; wolves run wild in you. You will hear the wind chimes like shattering. The sun will drip ichor. Whatever peace you find will be taken from you. Nothing will be the same. Nothing has ever been the same.

Ladybug, You must learn, That you must wait to take your turn. Others have been waiting too, When it's your turn, they'll wait for you.

Billy licked his lips, thought a while, inquired at last: 'Why me?' 'That is a very Earthling question to ask, Mr. Pilgrim. Why you? Why us for that matter? Why anything? Because this moment simply is. Have you ever seen bugs trapped in amber?' 'Yes.' Billy, in fact, had a paperweight in his office which was a blob of polished amber with three ladybugs embedded in it. 'Well, here we are, Mr. Pilgrim, trapped in the amber of this moment. There is no why.

YOU MUST BE PRESENT, i say to myself when the what wheres all up in the how now—trees! i turn to the trees for relief & they say nah! don’t look at us. you don’t even know our names. you don’t even know the difference between an oak tree & a maple tree. it’s true: my relationship with (love) (nature) (money) (fill in the blank) is like my relationship to weather— i only see it when it’s pouring on my head. i’m sorry to the trees i grew up with. i didn’t ask. i never learned. or even wondered (about their names). (their families) (their longings) i only dreamed of (me) climbing onto their shoulders. honestly, i was a ladybug to them—only heavier & more annoying. those trees i grew up with were generations older than me. they were practiced at living in a way i will never understand & all i could imagine was the view from their crown. oak trees. they were oak trees with their own history of migration. rooted in calumet city like me. if i asked them for answers, i wouldn’t have understood: sunlight. water. sunlight. water. sunlight. water.