Inevitably, malaria parasites developed resistance to commonly used drugs, and mosquito vectors became insecticide-resistant.

Blood is like water, to a vampire. And coffee is like blood, to a tired mosquito. And my love is like an itch—and a scratch.

I’m itching for battle—with a mosquito bite. The only thing in life I’ll scratch at more is the need to be loved. I’m so bloody needy.

I’d eat a mosquito to satisfy my hunger for an itch.

In my reality all the mosquitoes are vampires and all fireflies are dragons.

I’ve just been bitten on the neck by a vampire… mosquito. Does that mean that when the night comes I will rise and be annoying?