Best 1556 quotes in «bird quotes» category

Who are you?' Mo looked at the White Women. Then he looked at Dustfinger's still face. Guess.' The bird ruffled up its golden feathers, and Mo saw that the mark on its breast was blood. You are Death.' Mo felt the word heavy on his tongue. Could any word be heavier?

Who do you suppose decided that the birds are free? Even if they can fly the skies unless they have a destination and a branch upon which to perch and rest their wings they might even come to resent having those wings. True freedom... true freedom may be having somewhere to return to.

Whoever coined the phrase, killing two birds with one stone, not only hated birds but also thought we needed to conserve stones.

Whoever is related to me in the height of his aspirations will experience veritable ecstasies of learning; for I come from heights that no bird ever reached in its flight, I know abysses into which no foot ever strayed.

Who in their right mind wouldn't listen to what Larry Bird tells them? He knows what it takes to be a successful player, and he's letting us do the things to have the success.

Whoever says that all music is prohibited, let him also claim that the songs of birds are prohibited.

Why do you try to understand art? Do you try to understand the song of a bird?

Why do birds sing in the morning? It's the triumphant shout: 'We got through another night!'

Who has the right to decide that the supreme value is a world without insects even though it would be a sterile world ungraced by the curving wing of a bird in flight. The decision is that of the authoritarian temporarily entrusted with power.

Wings are not only for birds; they are also for minds. Human potential stops at some point somewhere beyond infinity.

Wisdom comes with all we see, God writes His lessons in each flower, And ev'ry singing bird or bee Can teach us something of His power.

Why should I disguise what you know so well, but what the crowd never dream of? We companies are all birds of prey; mere birds of prey. The only question is, whether in serving our own turn, we can serve yours too; whether in double-lining our own nest, we can put a single living into yours.

Witches try to 'connect' with the world around them. Witchcraft, they say, is about the tactile, intuitive understanding of the turn of the seasons, the song of the birds; it is the awareness of all things as holy.

Wisdom teaches us that none but birds should go out early, and that not even birds should do it unless they are out of worms.

With mimicry, with praises, with echoes, or with answers, the poets have all but outsung the bell. The inarticulate bell has found too much interpretation, too many rhymes professing to close with her inaccessible utterance, and to agree with her remote tongue. The bell, like the bird, is a musician pestered with literature.

Wild beasts and birds are by right not the property merely of the people today, but the property of the unborn generations, whose belongings we have no right to squander.

Will be but corpses dressed in frocks, who cannot speak to birds or rocks.

With empty hand no man can lure a hawk.

With hurricanes, tornados, fires out of control, mud slides, flooding, severe thunderstorms tearing up the country from one end to another, and with the threat of bird flu and terrorist attacks, "Are we sure this is a good time to take God out of the Pledge of Allegiance?

Without the gift of flowers and the infinite diversity of their fruits, man and bird, if they had continued to exist at all, would be today unrecognizable.

Women and birds are able to see without turning their heads, and that is indeed a necessary provision for they are both surrounded by enemies.

Women are not children. We are not fragile little birds who can't cope with jokes, works of art, or controversial speakers.

X. I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried—“La Belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!” XI. I saw their starved lips in the gloam, With horrid warning gaped wide, And I awoke and found me here, On the cold hill’s side. XII. And this is why I sojourn here, Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake, And no birds sing.

Writing is like a bird-watcher watching for birds: the stories are there: you just have to train yourself to look for them.

Yes, there was music after all. The sound of the swamp rose up to him. The sound of frogs and crickets, of birds and 'gators, of life in every puddle and pond and knothole and leaf. I Travel By Night

Yes," I say. "Three of these flying birds." I touch my collarbone, marking the path of their flight - toward my heart. One for each member of the family I left behind.

Yes, I will spend the livelong day With Nature in this month of May; And sit beneath the trees, and share My bread with birds whose homes are there; While cows lie down to eat, and sheep Stand to their necks in grass so deep; While birds do sing with all their might, As though they felt the earth in flight.

You are daydreaming about the future because you have not tasted the present. Start tasting the present. Find out a few moments where you are simply delighting. Looking at the trees, just be the look. Listening to the birds, just be a listening ear. Let them reach to your deepest core. Let their song spread all over your being.

You are walking in a desert.You hear a bird singing.As absurd as it may seem for a bird to be pending in the desert,you are obligated to make it a tree.That's poem

You can fall on your face easily if you go off in a certain direction. The Birds is a good example, some people are really phobic about birds flying over their heads, and some don't care. So, it's a personal thing.

You cannot save every fallen bird," said Woolsey. "One will do," said Magnus.

You can't be suspicious of a tree, or accuse a bird or a squirrel of subversion or challenge the ideology of a violet.

You can't steal a gift. Bird [Charlie Parker] gave the world his music, and if you can hear it you can have it.

You could not see a cloud, because No cloud was in the sky: No birds were flying overhead - There were no birds to fly.

Words are the birds that break cover and show your enemy where you're hiding.

You can cage the songbird, but you can't make her sing. And you can trap the free bird, but you'll have to clip her wings.

You cannot teach a bird to fly, only how to let go his branch and begin to fall.

You don't take your cat with you to go bird shopping. Not because the cat isn't polite, but because he's a cat.

You drew a bird that was here, a kind of sweet chanticleer. But with a terrible fear that the cage couldn't tame

You have a humming dodo bird," I said stupidly.

You have the Super Soaker filled with holy water?” “Yeah. I sucked it out of the church. You know that bird-bath thing they got right up front?” “The baptismal font?” “That’s it. They got it filled with holy water, free for the taking.” “Brilliant,” I said to Lula. She tapped her head with her finger. “No grass growin’ here.

You know, I don't really understand a suburban environment. I want to be out in the woods, I want to be where it's wild, I want to wake up and hear birds, I want to walk outside and see a gaggle of turkeys bouncing across my lawn - I want to be someplace like that - or I want to be right in the middle of an urban environment.

You'll know what kind of bird I am when I fly over you.

You'll think this is a bit silly, but I'm a bit--well, I have a thing about birds." "What, a phobia?" "Sort of." "Well, that's the common term for an irrational fear of birds." "What do they call a rational fear of birds, then?

You may call a jay a bird. Well, so he is, in a measure--because he's got feathers on him, and don't belong to no church, perhaps;but otherwise he is just as much a human as you be. And I'll tell you for why. A jay's gifts and instincts, and feelings, and interests, cover the whole ground. A jay hasn't got any more principle than a Congressman.

You needn't tell a bird it's a bird. Or remind a fish of its purpose. It's only us who lose our way. We have names because we must. - from Golden Tongue: The Poems of Steven Slaughter

You folks been following the big British Petroleum oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico? I'm telling you, British Petroleum has put more birds in oil than Colonel Sanders.

You know what the ideal dove gun for any given day is? Your other-the one you left at home.

You'll have a lot more respect for a bird after you try making a nest.

You must hear the birds song without attempting to render it into nouns and verbs.