“We were like two moths around a candle, I thought, circling closer and closer to the flame, waiting to see whose wings would catch fire first.”

“The poets say some moths will do anything out of love for a flame[...]The moth takes off again, and we both step back, because he's circling at eye level now and seems to have lost rudder control, smacking into the wall on each round. He circles lower and lower, spinning around the candle in tighter revolutions, like a soap sud over an open drain. A few times he seems to touch the flame, but dances off unhurt.Then he ignites like a ball of hair, curling into an oily puff of fumes with a hiss. The candle flame flickers and dims for a moment, then burns as bright as before.Moth Smoke Lingers.”

“The Moth don't care when he sees The Flame. He might get burned, but he's in the game. And once he's in, he can't go back, he'll Beat his wings 'til he burns them black... No, The Moth don't care when he sees The Flame. . .The Moth don't care if The Flame is real, 'Cause Flame and Moth got a sweetheart deal. And nothing fuels a good flirtation, Like Need and Anger and Desperation... No, The Moth don't care if The Flame is real. . . ”

“I guess there were two types of people in the world, those who sat around a fire, staring into the flames, and those who started the fire. Seth and I started the fire, and then we danced around it.”

“And when white moths were on the wing and moth-like stars were flickering out”

“Like a moth to the flame, I am drawn to writing, I do not question it, for no answer would diminish my urge, even though I know the fire may some day consume me.”