The flies go up the window,
They've nothing else to do,
They go up in their hundreds
And they come down two by two.

Their gauzy skirts had brushed up from the grass innumerable flies and butterflies which, unable to escape, remained caged in the transparent tissue as in an aviary.

Flies used to be happy-go-lucky, on their own; the sun’s out, have a fly about. Now, there’s little attacks going on.

[22] Flies are so mighty that they win battles, paralyse our minds, eat up our bodies.

Photographs attract false beliefs the way flypaper attracts flies.

Riches certainly make themselves wings; they fly away.

Swallows flew, the scythes of their wings mowing the light.

How easy it is to fly on paper wings!

And over it all, the butterflies swarmed, like a million yellow-pettalled flowers dancing on swirling winds.

In 1895 the writer became interested in the study of the . Breeding-cage experiments with some detail later on in this paper early convinced him that is the favorite food of this species. Even in the presence of kitchen garbage, , and , flies in confinement oviposited exclusively on horse manure. In the absence of the latter substance but in the presence of the others, he noted egg-laying on decaying fruit and on cow dung but the resultant larvæ failed to develop. He considered himself warranted in the statement that probably 95 percent of the flies found in cities come from the piles of horse manure everywhere so prevalent, especially in the vicinity of stables.

Like summer friends,
Flies of estate and sunneshine.

The flies festered over the bodies, in some way aware that the war had ended and determined to hoard every morsel of flesh for the coming famine of the peace.

The butterfly owns her now.
It covers her and her wounds.

A drop of honey catches more flies than a gallon of gall.