Damselfly Quotes

“Dragonflies are an endless pleasure.”
― Cindy Crosby, Chasing Dragonflies: A Natural, Cultural, and Personal History

“Desperately, I looked in all directions. What struck me immediately was the violence. Everything seemed to be choking something else: Creepers twisted around brambles, brambles around vines, vines around trees. Every plant vied for space and the thin shafts of light that pushed through the greenery overhead. But there wasn’t enough space for all of them.

“Mel,” I screamed again, my throat scratchy and raw. My brown school oxfords made sucking sounds as I walked. I felt as if I were being pulled down, like the jungle might consume me.

From DAMSELFLY”
― Chandra Prasad

“Through a chink in my fingers, I watched Mel react. She fished around in her sock, producing a switchblade. She clicked it open and whipped it through the air. The steel blade caught the sunlight, and flashed. Then she tore after the creature, squealing and hoofing as it had. It looked up at her in dismay, and I partially pitied it, pitied the terror on its homely face. She swiped the blade across its side as it attempted to turn around, its legs scrabbling, its pudgy body squirming and twitching, trying in vain to push through the dense tangle. Mel had a chance to knife it again—I could see her debating whether she should, but she wiped the bloody blade against her sock instead. The injured creature finally made headway into the creepers. Another squeal, and then its backside and tufted tail disappeared into the undergrowth.

Shuddering, I moved my hands from my face. I stared at Mel. I tried to breathe. The pig’s blood looked bright and alarming against the grimy cotton of her sock.

FROM DAMSELFLY
“Will it die?” I whispered.

“I didn’t get it very deep. I should have killed it. Killed it before it killed you.”
― Chandra Prasad

“An insect hovers nearby. She can't remember what it's called: smaller than a dragonfly, with delicate mother-of-pearl wings. It skims the surface of the beck. She stays like that for a long time, listening to the birds, the water, the insects. She shuts her eyes, opening them again when she feels something brush her hand. The dragonfly-like creature with the iridescent wings. The word swims up from the depths of her brain: a damselfly.
Tears well in her eyes, surprising her.
She was fascinated by insects as a child. She remembers begging her mother to spare the moths that fluttered out from wardrobes, the gauzy spider's webs that clung to the ceiling. She'd collected vividly illustrated books about them. About birds, too. She would hide under the covers reading, in the small, silent hours of the morning while her parents slept in the next room. It hurts now, to think of that little girl, her innocent wonder: flashlight in hand, turning the glossy pages and marveling at the wild and wonderful creatures. Butterflies with eyes on their wings, parrots in candy-colored plumage.”
― Emilia Hart, Weyward

“As I write, in early July 2025, threatening plumes of smoke sweep across the horizon. Dava Moor, twelve miles from Laikenbuie Ecology Trust, is on fire. The wildfire currently spans over nine miles. As well as the terrible impact on local people, I grieve for the animals. Endangered northern damselflies and white-faced darters live in lochs now surrounded by flames. Never has it felt more pressing to restore health to our habitats and increase Scotland's resilience to climate change.”
― Genevieve Tompkins, Reforesting Scotland 72: Autumn/Winter 2025