Honey Quotes

“Beekeeping is the world’s second oldest profession. The first apiarists were the ancient Egyptians. Bees were royal symbols, the tears of Re, the sun god.

In Greek mythology, Aristaeus, the god of beekeeping, was taught by nymphs to tend bees.

The Bible promises a land of milk and honey. The Koran says paradise has rivers of honey for those who guard against evil. Krishna, the Hindu deity, is often shown with a blue bee on his forehead. The bee itself is considered a symbol of Christ: the sting of Justice and mercy of honey, side by side.

The first voodoo dolls were molded from beeswax; an oungan might tell you to smear honey on a person to keep ghosts at bay; a manbo would make little cakes of honey, amaranth, and whiskey, which, eaten before the new moon, could show you your future.

Sometimes I wonder which of my prehistoric ancestors first stuck his arm into a hole in a tree. Did he come out with a handful of honey, or a fistful of stings? Is the promise of one worth the risk of the other?”
― Jodi Picoult and Jennifer Finney Boylan, Mad Honey

“There once was a town.
It was a quaint little town, in a quiet valley, where life moved at the pace of snails and the only road in was the only way out, too. There was a candy store that sold the sweetest honey taffy you ever tasted, and a garden store that grew exotic, beautiful blooms year-round. The local café was named after a possum that tormented its owner for years, and the chef there made the best honey French toast in the Northeast. There was a bar where the bartender always knew your name, and always served your burgers slightly burnt, though the local hot sauce always disguised the taste. If you wanted to stay the weekend, you could check-in at the new bed-and-breakfast in town--- just as soon as its renovations were finished, and just a pleasant hike up Honeybee Trail was a waterfall there, rumor had it, if you made a wish underneath it, the wish would come true. There was a drugstore, a grocer, a jewelry store that was open only when Mercury was in of retrograde---
And, oh, there was a bookstore.
It was tucked into an unassuming corner of an old brick building fitted with a labyrinthine maze of shelves stocked with hundreds of books. In the back corner was a reading space with a fireplace, and chairs so cozy you could sink into them for hours while you read. The rafters were filled with glass chimes that, when the sunlight came in through the top windows, would send dapples of colors flooding across the stacks of books, painting them in rainbows. A family of starlings roosted in the eaves, and sang different songs every morning, in time with the tolls of the clock tower.
The town was quiet in that cozy, sleepy way that if you closed your eyes, you could almost hear the valley breathe as wind crept through it, between the buildings, and was sighed out again.”
― Ashley Poston, A Novel Love Story

“If you are an aspiring honey farmer, I have a documentary you NEED to watch. It's called The Beekeeper, and it stars Jason Stratham. It is the Mission Impossible of apiculturist culture.”
― Jarod Kintz, A Memoir of Memories and Memes

“My knees almost buckled as I tasted blueberry honey, raspberry honey, wildflower honey, sunflower honey---I bought six jars without even thinking.
"What are you going to do with all that?" Jane asked.
"I have no idea, but I sense lots of baking, even some infusions. I can take what we don't use back to New York. Honey carries such local flavor; they'll be so fresh at Feast.”
― Katherine Reay, Lizzy and Jane

“Her voice, like honey poured over broken glass.”
― Daniel Ruczko, Pieces of a Broken Mind

“Crystals of old honey on her body's tongue, long hardened, were loosening in the warmth of her spilling blood, turning from grain to syrup, a slow sweet hum of wings unfurling from deep within her and looping outward, solid and multitudinous, the comb in her chest and the workers in her veins, and the hive all around her.”
― Emma Törzs, Ink Blood Sister Scribe

“The ocean at sunset, a sea of honey holding wax ships sailed by bees”
― Michelle Cuevas

“It shouldn't be here. This sedge grass is decorative bullshit he imported from Northern Asia. The lab spent two years modifying it to slot into our ecosystem, all so that the mountain would literally smell of honey. Terra di latte e miele, she said, mockingly. Thank god my father went into business, not poetry. He's far too much of a romantic. I laughed, incredulous at this portrait of my stiff employer, and Aida reddened. It is romantic, if you think about it. He planted the grass for my mother. She's one of those Catholic Koreans, painfully devout. You know. The promised land, Canaan, found after forty years of wandering the desert. The land of milk and honey.”
― C Pam Zhang, Land of Milk and Honey

“The pancakes and French toast were topped with locally sourced Honey-Honey honey, made grumpy to order with powdered sugar and cinnamon, with a perfectly star-cut strawberry on top.”
― Ashley Poston, A Novel Love Story

“You get yourself a good peach brandy from the liquor store. Pour yourself a jigger full and mix it with some raw honey from Mason's Market. He has the local honey with all the wonderful antibiotic properties still in it." She made a face. "Not that cheap industrial stuff. It'll cure that cough in no time. Help you sleep too." She winked at Betsy.
"Glenda's right. We use cinnamon whiskey and honey. Works like a charm every time." Miss Susie smiled. Her face lit up in that warm, loving, grandmotherly way.”
― Kate Young, Southern Sass and a Battered Bride

“I Once Was A Bee by Stewart Stafford

I once was a bee,
All striped and dorky,
I got crushed underfoot,
By Amber Heard's Yorkie.

It mashed my wings,
I never sought money,
Even when it made me,
Poop out some honey.

As I flew to Bee Heaven,
In a mystical fog,
She made such a fuss,
Of that murdering dog.

© Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“Why'd your mother choose the name Glory? Is there meaning behind it?"
"I thought she had chosen it because morning glories represent mortal life, but Mama told me it was because there had been a golden light around me when I came back to Georgia. Said it looked like a full-body halo. Till the day she died, she said that light was because when Bee had gone to glory, glory had come to me."
It was impossible not to remember that the first time I saw Glory, I'd thought she glowed with light as well, as if her innate goodness shined for all to see.
"But I don't think it's some kind of halo at all," she said, "even though such a big piece of me died that night in this garden."
"What do you think it is?"
She glanced at a bee skimming the water of the gazing pool. "It's always reminded me of honey. Especially since I feel like the bees are looking out for me. I've felt their buzzing underfoot since that horrible night. It never went away. I like to think that the glow---and the buzzing---are their reminders that I'm safe now.”
― Heather Webber, In the Middle of Hickory Lane

“How a child is produced? It is created through semen. Due to the downward movement of semen, a child is born. When it goes outward it is semen and when its movement is upward within the body, it is transformed into honey, and then what does it do? It creates its own form within the myriads of people in the spiritual world.”
― Sri Jibankrishma or Diamond

“You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”
― Soroosh Shahrivar, Tajrish

“May your taste be as sweet
As the finest honey you eat.”
― Ana Claudia Antunes, A-Z of Happiness: Tips for Living and Breaking Through the Chain that Separates You from Getting That Dream Job

“It's Apicius-Style Duck. Enjoy."
Apicius-Style Duck is a dish said to have been a favorite of a famous seventeenth-century Italian gourmand.
The recipe calls for duck breasts to be roasted and then have the skin side coated in spices and a caramelized honey glaze.
"Look at how the caramelized honey gleams!"
"The layer of spices crusting the outer skin smells amazing too!”
― Yūto Tsukuda, 食戟のソーマ 11 [Shokugeki no Souma 11]

“My mind is on the poem I'm writing—
language pollinated, packed neatly
into hexagonal cells.”
― Jenny Noble Anderson, But Still She Flies: Poems and Paintings

“Stella is next up. Her cake is striking to look at, stacked in graduated tiers, so that it almost resembles half of a bee's nest. It's lightly frosted in that naked style, the icing scraped away to reveal the edges of the sponge, cooked to perfection. A honey-colored glaze drips attractively down the sides, and small fondant bees with almond silver wings cling to the tops of the cakes; a few are even hovering on wire to look like they are flying.
"I must say I've never seen a cake shaped like this. What are the flavors?" Betsy asks, and Stella beams.
"It's flavored with orange zest and honey.”
― Jessa Maxwell, The Golden Spoon

“I had a pretty good, though untrained, palate and sense of smell, and Adeena was forever coming up with little tests to see if I could determine what was in certain food and drinks. I didn't mind--- these tastings had fast become a ritual with us, a fun way to start the day and keep my senses sharp. Plus, I did enjoy showing off a bit.
I was pretty sure I knew what spices were in the honey I'd just sampled, but just in case, I took another healthy bite of the honey-topped scone and chewed slowly, letting the contrasting textures and flavors permeate my mouth. The crisp crust of the scone yielded to a soft, fluffy interior that melted in the mouth. The clotted cream added body and richness and perfectly complemented the sweetly spiced honey.
"Star anise, cinnamon, cardamom, cloves, black pepper, and just a touch of ginger," I pronounced.”
― Mia P. Manansala, Murder and Mamon

“For every day I have known her, she has eaten the same breakfast: sourdough toast with butter and whipped honey. She slices the golden brown toasted bread into four small squares and places them on a paper towel she has folded in half. A generous smear of softened butter goes on each piece, as thick as frosting on a cupcake, and each is then topped by a good-size dollop of whipped honey. As a child, I watched her do this hundreds of times, and now, when I'm sick, sourdough toast with butter and honey is like medicine.”
― Sarah Jio, The Violets of March

“The Town and Country Market was just a half mile from Bee's home. I used to walk there as a girl, with my sister or my cousins, or sometimes all by myself, picking purple clover flowers along the way until I had a big round bunch, which, when pressed up to your nose, smelled exactly of honey. Before the walk, we'd always beg the adults for twenty-five cents and return with pockets full of pink Bazooka bubble gum. If summer had a flavor, it was pink bubble gum.”
― Sarah Jio, The Violets of March

“Georgia held the jar up to the light, gazing at the dark golden color of the honey, remembering the buzzing of the bees, the fragrance of the apple orchard laced with the briny scent of the sea.
On impulse, she twisted the lid off the jar and swirled her finger through the honey. She licked it clean. She could just catch a hint of lavender in the creamy goodness. She scooped up another little dollop. Strange. Somehow, the honey tasted like love, like the answer to a question, like coming home.”
― Rachel Linden, Recipe for a Charmed Life

“She flipped to the next page with the heading "Love Honey."

1 handful of cotton
2 red clovers
A few drops of honeysuckle nectar
Dash of nutmeg sugar

Put all ingredients inside a copper bee smoker. Light it with a match soaked in rosemary oil and drop it in. Go to a hive you know well at sunrise and say the words while you smoke them:

Come to me, my love
You will find me in the creek swimming you
Or in the kitchen baking you
Or in my bed sleeping you
I will think only of you
And you will think only of me
You will be hungry when you eat
You will be tired when you sleep
Until you come to me
My love ”
― Alli Dyer, Strange Folk

“She pushed the memory away as she shelled the small hill of pistachios. In the stone mortar and pestle, which had been in her family for two generations, she added the green and purplish kernels, along with a generous pinch of cardamom seeds, before pounding the mixture into a paste. Folding in a dollop of honey, she tasted the thick paste. The nutty flavor of the pistachios blended with the spiced perfume of cardamom and the sweetness of honey to create a mouthwatering blend that would serve as the perfect filling for the cake.
By now, her syrup had cooled enough to start the dough. In a large clay bowl, she mixed cow's milk with soft butter and the syrup, adding an egg and finally the wheat flour. It was only second-grade wheat, but it was good enough for a cake.”
― Tessa Afshar, The Queen's Cook

“The crystalline currents of the river Karkheh flowed to the west of Susa, irrigating the thirsty city. It was said to have the purest water in the world. For that reason, no one was allowed to drink from its waters but the king.
Roxannah's favorite place was the river's fertile banks, which provided endless treasures for anyone patient enough to search for them. Here, she foraged for wild ingredients that had the advantage of being free as well as delicious resources for the new recipes she loved to create.
Walking by the river's banks at sunrise, Roxannah came across a cluster of wild, twisty fig trees. It was early for the first harvest. But a few handfuls of precocious fruit had ripened enough to be picked.
At home, she snipped the stems and washed the figs before letting them simmer with honey, adding a touch of her special blend of spices. They would taste delicious with the creamy yogurt she had made the day before.”
― Tessa Afshar, The Queen's Cook

“Training a cat to guard milk!”
― Dipti Dhakul

“The honey appears on an oval tin tray, craggy blocks of honeycomb oozing their sticky cargo onto the tray. We scoop the honey up with forks (I looked in vain for a spoon), trying hard not to drip on the tired pink carpet that covers the floor of the tent. The honey is not as sweet as that at home, more liquid, and its fragrance is both floral and resinous.
Perched in the tent on a mountain, surrounded by tall pines, the scent of woodsmoke and the sound of the distant water rushing over rocks like the laughter of happy children, this could well be the breakfast of dreams.”
― Nigel Slater, A Thousand Feasts: Small Moments of Joy… A Memoir of Sorts

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― Little Honey

“Plump as a bee, pale gold and as thick as treacle, there is something jolly about a pot of honey. As presents go, a jar of the sticky stuff is always welcome. I twist off the lid and inhale. The scent today is of butter, toasted nuts and caramel whilst underneath lurks something dark, medicinal. A teaspoon is found and I dip in.
I like that first nip of honey, whether it smacks of fudge or chestnuts or something altogether lighter. I dream of the orange blossom promised on the label. A pot of honey is a pot of memories, almost always good ones, as soothing as a Murray Mint.”
― Nigel Slater, A Thousand Feasts: Small Moments of Joy… A Memoir of Sorts

“The fruits scorch in the fierce heat. The smell of plum jam fills the kitchen. Flesh bubbles, edges blacken, plum juices burst from their skins and mingle with the honey and lemon. Twenty minutes later they emerge, collapsed in a pool of deepest purple-red. I twist the lid from a bottle of rosewater, hand-made, no label, and shake drops over the scorched fruit. A scent of rose, sweet fruit and honey. We let the fruit rest for ten minutes.
The roasted plums are served on an old tin dish, a mound of salted labneh at their side, the juices seeping into the soft, thick yoghurt like lipstick into a pantomime dame's pancake make-up. I rain a pinch of dried rose petals over the surface and offer them up. We spoon the soft fruit and labneh into our mouths, then lift the dishes to our lips to drink the last drop of rose-perfumed juice.”
― Nigel Slater, A Thousand Feasts: Small Moments of Joy… A Memoir of Sorts