Best 288 of Birds quotes - MyQuotes
We ate the birds. We ate them. We wanted their songs to flow up through our throats and burst out of our mouths, and so we ate them. We wanted their feathers to bud from our flesh. We wanted their wings, we wanted to fly as they did, soar freely among the treetops and the clouds, and so we ate them. We speared them, we clubbed them, we tangled their feet in glue, we netted them, we spitted them, we threw them onto hot coals, and all for love, because we loved them. We wanted to be one with them. We wanted to hatch out of clean, smooth, beautiful eggs, as they did, back when we were young and agile and innocent of cause and effect, we did not want the mess of being born, and so we crammed the birds into our gullets, feathers and all, but it was no use, we couldn’t sing, not effortlessly as they do, we can’t fly, not without smoke and metal, and as for the eggs we don’t stand a chance. We’re mired in gravity, we’re earthbound. We’re ankle-deep in blood, and all because we ate the birds, we ate them a long time ago, when we still had the power to say no.
The call of the yellow-billed cuckoo of North America is often mistaken for a bloodhound drinking a bowl of milk. He goes coulp coulp coulp.
All trees and birds sky and stars bosoms and bangles were seeing everything.
Ruffian magpies and crows squabbled shrilly in the swaying tree by my window. Then, unbeknownst to me, a tiny starling with its astral plumage came closer still and made its resonant point with greater subtlety.
The moon seems unaware of night's dark hitting on the damp warm rain misguiding owl's spitting A thunder light of love raising hearts beating while weather learns more from rain lovers meeting
Not every hen lay eggs. Not every hen that lays eggs gets them hatched. Not everyone born with greatness becomes as such. Go, hatch your eggs.
Don't ask why the elephants wear such large shoes, And why the kangaroos are reborn kidnappers, And why the sailing birds are all Romantics.
Now when I hear birdsong, I feel an entry to that understory. When I am feeling too squeezed on the ground, exhausted by everything in my care, I look for a little sky. There are always birds flying back and forth, city birds flitting around our human edges, singing their songs.
Be the Chocolate What if I want to be the bird who eats the Chocolate?
The beautiful sky will catch the dew The beautiful sky is always watching you The beautiful sky no you cannot break through The beautiful sky so divine and true The beautiful sky birds only few The beautiful sky reminds me of you The beautiful sky gives me no clue The beautiful sky is wholesome like you
She, who prided herself on her tough exterior, could always be undone by the beauty of flight.
Happier than a bird with a french fry.
The bird music sank into her, like a song you used to know but forgot long ago. You hear a piano play it some day, and for a minute you feel a happy pain, but you don't know why. Bird felt like that.
...a murder of crows gormandized until they were satiated.
Eagle's flight of loneliness soars so high Around its sigh, no more alone the sky Other birds remain away, clouds pass by Between shrouds of life and haze sun rays die
Everywhere I go, your beauty spills into my day. The trees were never this verdant. The birdsong never this sweet.
This Byrd wants a Wren.
Scents were like rain, or birds. They left and came back.
Mehmet Murat Ildan
Every bird has a style and each style has its own fate, just as it is in humans!
The birds will wing from the weather, While I stand, still as the harvest, With the sound of the fall in the air.
It was generally believed, said Theophilus, that Orpheus learned his music from the birds. His small voice, piping after theirs, filled with all the secret stories of the earth.
We were suppose to be like the birds.
What joy compares with that of a bird that has just learned she can fly?
One-eighth of the (bird) species alive today are in danger of disappearing in the near future.
The presence of a single bird can change everything for one who appreciates them.
The day arrived,when myriad teary rivers flow and the muted wind faintly died in his tears—an altar for the beloved one's departure,for sister-hood is no more,for her to adore!while pangs the beating world in a lamenting voice;their remembering loss of the 'one' they embrace most and when the crepuscule came like a phantom,the mournful,gathered birds swiftly flew in gloom.
Nature has no beauty forbidden Manmade concrete slab: guilt-ridden Wings or leaves whatever we may care Those limbs with the birds only trees will share
Headaches were like birds. Starlings. They could be perfectly calm, then a single acorn could drop and send the entire flock to the sky.
Die Ornithomanie ist eine Passion, die oft mit wissenschaftlichem Ehrgeiz verquickt ist, und in ihren extremsten Erscheinungsformen - man mag hier wohl schon vom Bird-Stalking sprechen - wohl tatsächlich eine Krankheit. Dann, wenn alles andere im Leben zu kurz kommt, wenn man die Sorge um Mitmenschen und die finanziellen Grenzen vergisst, wenn Sammeln, Beobachten oder Fangen wichtiger wird als alles andere im Leben.
Black hawk down. Black eagle up.
It did occur to him that perhaps he’d gone to the wrong Academy – the guys in the Space Fleet always had more interesting stories to tell at the spaceport bars. You know, tales about the dude who got vaporized in a plasma accident in the engineering section, or the fella who got turned into a blob of weird space jelly by some alien virus – or the time someone flew a starship into an astor-field at warp four by mistake (they were still trying to find the black box on that one). The Imperial Space Fleet’s recruiting office sure didn’t go around advertising ‘Join up, see the universe, meet interesting aliens and die screaming’, but it was known there were risks involved. It was part of the job after all, and yet somehow, they still got recruits signing up in droves. Yes, indeedy – the stories were far more interesting than his – took a load of ore to Gorda, took a load of mining equipment back to Tordrazil. Took a load of Florpavian Flame-birds to a zoo on Deanna, took a load of machinery to Salus. Picked up and dropped off a few passengers on the way. Still, Florpavian Flame-birds were a risky cargo… and damned tricky to transport – which is probably the only reason he’d had any entertainment at all on the last trip.
This Bird, in my opinion, is a pretty, sweet, dapper songster, being of a nature cheerful; as he is pleasant to the ear, so he is to the eye; and when he sings cocks up his tail, and throws out his notes with so much alacrity and pleasure that I know not any bird of its bigness more delights the sense of hearing.
The same birds still flew from them like signal flares, razored the air with their cries.
Mehmet Murat Ildan
It is raining! In other words little poems are coming down from the sky! Nature is literature! Sun is a fable; forest is a story; birds are a theatre; mountains are a myth; rain is a poem! Nature is literature!
You can pretend we are one or we are alone but the religions based on each are doors someone drew on a wall in the hope they could make a getaway before whoever's wall it was got home There's always a gap in the photostream or a certain dubiousness to the signature A bird in the air is worth more to itself than all the ones in the grip of something
A magpie can be happy or sad: sometimes so happy that he sits on a high, high gum tree and rolls the sunrise around in his throat like beads of pink sunlight; and sometimes so sad that you would expect the tears to drip off his beak. This magpie was like that.
We have a friend, and Anglophile American city-dweller in his eighties, whose main ambition, now, is to hear a cuckoo call, for he never has, and perhaps he never will, for he is rather deaf. But, if he came and sat under the magic apple tree for an afternoon in May, it would be quiet enough, and then he might listen to the cuckoo-cuckoo-cuckoo until he had his fill.
Oh yes," said Jana. "You want the birdbath." She let him down onto the rim of the birdbath, then watched as he dipped his head, lowered his chest into the water, and raised it. Having finished his bath, he did a dance of sheer joy, flapping his wings and shaking off the water in a circle of drops. "He enjoys life," said a voice. Mr. Powell the optometrist, a closed umbrella in hand, was letting his two dachshunds chase each other around the park. "As do your dogs," said Jana. "Yes," said Mr. Powell,"they have fun in a simpler and more joyous way than most humans do. Their pleasures seem more reliable. All you have to do is say the word 'walk' and they're wiggling from head to toe....
Mehmet Murat Ildan
A planet without birds is a planet without angels!
Mehmet Murat Ildan
Birds are flying over the garden. What are you doing inside the house? Join them! If you can’t join them, at least open the window and greet them!
Birds fly more efficiently than aeroplanes. Nature is the superior engineer.
Unless you understand the pain and sufferings of the people, trees, birds and the nature, how can you understand God.
Spread your wings and fly
Invisible magpies warbled in the plane trees. Softly, gently, never running out of melodic ideas, they perched among the leaves and spun out their endless tales.
My love for you will go on till the birds keep on singing, the bees keep on humming, the grass keeps on growing, and the moon keeps on shining on full-moon nights!
Sturdy swimmers afloat on water-couch Beneath the heavy bill their treasured pouch Fishes pray for them to fly far away Inland lakes toast to the Pelican’s day
A human being can only endure depression up to a certain point; when this point of saturation is reached it becomes necessary for him to discover some element of pleasure, no matter how humble or on how low a level, in his environment if he is to go on living at all. In my case these insignificant birds with their subdued colourings have provided just sufficient distraction to keep me from total despair. Each day I find myself spending longer and longer at the window watching their flights, their quarrels, their mouse-quick flutterings, their miniature feuds and alliances. Curiously enough, it is only when I am standing in front of the window that I feel any sense of security. While I am watching the birds I believe that I am comparatively immune from the assaults of life. The very indifference to humanity of these wild creatures affords me a certain safeguard. Where all else is dangerous, hostile and liable to inflict pain, they alone can do me no injury because, probably, they are not even aware of my existence. The birds are at once my refuge and my relaxation.
My feathered friends were so much to me that I am constantly tempted to make this sketch of my first years a book about birds and little else.
These steel monstrosities screamed night and day, blotted out the starlit skies and Northern Lights with flashing red strobes, slaughtered thousands of bats and entire flocks of birds banished tourism and wildlife, made people sick and drove them from their now-valueless homes.
Charmaine J Forde
Sitting under a tree in a park in the summer, listening to birds and squirrels chirping while reading a good book is priceless.