A Quote by Michael Dickinson

Although their maneuverability is limited, blind flies can fly remarkably well. — © Michael Dickinson
Although their maneuverability is limited, blind flies can fly remarkably well.
Would you mind getting off that fly paper and giving the flies a chance?" "Ahhh, you can't trick me! Flies don't read papers!
This is something I haven't told many people, because it's embarrassing. We always used to catch flies with our hands. I was the only one who could catch 'em. One-handed, two-handed. I actually studied flies. I'd watch 'em. How do you catch flies? They fly up. If I can catch that, I can catch anything.
On who the flies landed without being chased away by that person, was on her way to death - this was one of the unmistakeable signs. From that time on, I think, dates my obsession with flies. In times of peace, when we all lied still, I made sure to sneak close up to my mother, watching very carefully that no fly would land on her, - I waved my hat over her body, flies don't like wind and movement.
My first summer in college I worked in a fruit fly lab where I had two jobs: dissect the fruit fly larvae brains and incinerate the old tubes of flies.
Being blind is as simple as closing your eyes. The blind don't act any different than you or I. You never see a blind person going around saying, 'I'm blind.' So if you want to play blind just close your eyes and keep them closed and fare thee well.
An errant May-fly swerved unsteadily athwart the current in the intoxicated fashion affected by young bloods of May-flies seeing life. A swirl of water and a 'cloop!' and the May-fly was visible no more
In our family, there was no clear line between religion and fly fishing. We lived at the junction of great trout rivers in western Montana, and our father was a Presbyterian minister and a fly fisherman who tied his own flies and taught others. He told us about Christ's disciples being fishermen, and we were left to assume, as my brother and I did, that all first-class fishermen on the Sea of Galilee were fly fishermen and that John, the favorite, was a dry-fly fisherman.
It is difficult, but intriguing, to imagine seeing the world as a fly might. First, flies don't have nearly the same visual resolution that we do... so you have to imagine a fuzzier image. Second, fly eyes are faster than our own and are very sensitive to motion.
If flies are a great model, they're a great model for flies. These animals, you know, they're not like us. We don't fly. We don't have a compound eye. I don't think we process sensory information the same way. The muscles that they use are just incredibly much more sophisticated and interesting than the muscles we use.
The blind eate many a flie. [The blind eat many a fly.]
In terms of style, too, I think I've been working with a somewhat limited -- although intentionally limited -- set of tools. So I'm attempting to be a bit looser as I start stories off. To digress. To make interesting mistakes.
We always think, 'Well, for a person who's blind, it must be an amazing, joyful miracle if by some chance their sight is restored to them.' Now, this may be true for blind people who lost their vision at a later age. It's rarely true for people who were born blind or who go blind at a very young age.
Flies? Flies? Poor puny things. Who wants to eat flies?
The mystical perception (which is only "mystical" if reality is limited to what can be measured by the intellect and senses) is remarkably consistent in all ages and all places. All phenomena are processes, connections, all is in flux...have the mind screens knocked away to see there is no real edge to anything, that in the endless interpenetration of the universe, a molecular flow, a cosmic energy shimmers in all stone and steel as well as flesh.
I'm a fly fisherman. I make flies. They're imitations of insects at different stages in their development.
In agony or danger, no nature is atheist. The mind that knows not what to fly to, flies to God.
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