Best 764 quotes in «flying quotes» category

Cara: *Flies* Gen: What? I don't have wings! Cara: Ofcourse not! You're a boy.

Climbing is as close as we can come to flying.

Clouds are high flying Fog

Continuously flying becomes impossible as its limits and nature without landing or changing; it defines and discloses the ups and downs.

David was holding Mona steady. I hoped he also had a little attention to spare to keep us unnoticed from the ground; seeing a Dodge Viper do a Chitty Chitty Bang Bang in the desert sky might be a little hard to explain, even for UFO nuts.

Don't run with the crowd; fly with the stars.

Every time he tries to fly high, but his memories always hold his broken wings.

Dragons love to fly at the expanding edge of your world.

Each day is a good day because it's a day, not a night, each flight is a good flight.

Easy does it, boys. I just need help standing, not flying.

Flying in a modern jet airplane doses the human with levels of radiation comparable to those found in nuclear disaster zones.

Flying in his dreams was an exhilarating, breathtaking experience, sometimes literally, that tended to leave reality wanting, like riding a roller coaster compared to mowing the lawn.

Flying, with your love, shining, with your love, riding, with your love. I feel like I'm on top of the world with your love.

Finally I came to think that may be everything we need to know,ever,about anything,is already within us,waiting till we call for it.

Finn said, “You feel the wind is a bully, beating you. But that is your seeing. That is your story, not the wind’s. To a bird who rides it, that wind is only a kind hand. Because the bird rides the wind’s power. Do you understand?” Clare, bitter, cold, and wind-battered, frowned stubbornly. “But a bird can fly. I can’t fly.” He turned to look at her, and his face was troubled. “If you cling to the safety of the rock, indeed you can’t. To fly, you open your arms and fall, heart first, trusting the wind to bear you up. That’s what the birds do.

Flying high with WiFi in the sky.

Flights are expansive moments when the phone doesn't ring and the Internet doesn't work. The maxim that flying time is wasted time liberates me from my anxieties and guilt feelings, and it strips me of all ambitions, leaving room for a different sort of existence. A happy, idiotic existence, the kind that doesn't try to make the most of time but is satisfied with merely finding the most enjoyable way to spend it.

Flying is not only the art of the birds, but it is also the art of the artists!

For all the jokes and complaints about the aches of air travel, it's pretty marvelous, if you think about it.

Forgiveness is the subjective and fertile ground the acorn falls upon when gifted to ourselves and others.

Flying is like riding a bike. You think you forget, but you don't. You just need a happy thought.

For my soul lies dormant, restless, waiting for that moment when shackles are cast aside and it is free to fly once more.

Go to any airport in this country and you’ll see how well our government is dealing with the terrible danger you’re in. TSA staffers are wanding 90-year-old ladies in wheelchairs, and burrowing through their suitcases. Toddlers are on the no-fly list. Lipsticks are confiscated. And it’s all done with the highest seriousness. It’s a show of protection and it stirs the fear pot, giving us over and over an image of being in grave personal peril, needing Big Brother to make sure we’re safe.

God and Destiny are not against us, rather they are for us, they are the ones who never forget the things we have long forgotten, the ones who hear the desires of our heart that our own heads can't hear, and they are the ones who never forget who we really are, long after our minds have forgotten the images of who we are. We come from God and we belong to Destiny, yet for some reason of ignorance we think that to be the master of our own fates and the captain of our own souls means to write everything down on a paper and plan everything out on a grid! Such great things to be done, and we think they are accomplished by our primitive ways! No. We must only know what we want. And want what we want. And then fly high enough to see all that which we want that we couldn't yet see.

From above, the world looks orderly. That is one of the primary benefits of having wings. Being high shapes everything below into peaceful patterns. And even though you know there is chaos below, messiness everywhere, it is reassuring to sometimes think that it all eventually sorts itself out into something that looks elegant.

Her words are her wings. She's flying.

He had his eyes closed and rocked himself so much that everyone thought he would soon crash to the ground. And then it happened. He crashed to the ground. Surprised, he lay on the ground on his side, not sure what had happened, looking around. Next he jumped up and listened to Matica’s singing again, starting to rock himself once more. His eyes closed slowly, his beak opened. And then he crashed to the ground a second time. This time he kept lying down, spreading his free wing up into the air and waving it to the tune of the melody. Strange sounds came out of his beak. It was a grunt but more than a grunt, as if he was really enjoying himself, as if he would follow Matica’s words and would sing or hum as well.

He screamed in agony as large black wings erupted from his back - each had four large talons on it.

Health and safety in the USA is largely a sham and it is not surprising that the new Boeing 737 Max started repeatedly flying itself into the ground with a total loss of all life.

He felt like a baked bean in a can, soaring through the air on a downward turn of a parabolic arc...

How wonderful it must be, I thought, to be able to just spread your wings whenever you like without someone following you around trying to swat you out of the sky.

[His eyes are] Atlantic Ocean blue, just like he'd said. It's strange because of course I'd known that. But the difference between knowing it and seeing them in person is the difference between dreaming of flying and flight.

Humans have better wings than birds: Human mind is a perfect wing and with this wing we can fly to some farthermost places no bird can ever dream! Yes, mind is a wing; and when it comes to flying man is the most sophisticated bird on earth!

I adore the sky wearing rainbow shawl of love for the birds so that they could fly free in warmth after the storm

I already fell—a little too hard if you ask me. Now it’s your turn.” “My turn for what?” “To say you love me so I can close my eyes and fall all the way.

Hush,” I said. “I’m here, and I’m not letting you out of my sight anytime soon so keep holding me tight.” I looked down, a little more than afraid of plummeting hundreds of feet down.- Breena to Kian, Silver Frost

I am falling, tumbling through the air, but this time the darkness is alive around me, full of beating things, and I realize that I'm not surrounded by dark but have only had my eyes closed all this time. I open them, feeling silly, and at the same time a hundred thousand butterlies take off around me, so many of them in so many brilliant colors they are like a solid rainbow, temporarily obscuring the sun. But as they wing higher and higher they reveal a landscape below us, all green and gold and sun-drenched fields and pink-tinged clouds drifting underneath me, and the air around me is clear and blue and sweet smelling, and I'm laughing, laughing, laughing as I spin through the air because, of course, I haven't been falling all the time. I've been flying.

I am flying blindly but sure to meet some day...wait for me!

I am no fan of plane travel. I have always been too skeptical of the physics of the phenomenon to ever be truly comfortable in an airplane.

Ian looked skyward to see the firedrake soaring overhead. Its mass was a black deluge, an eclipse of aberrant origins, and its wings were tautly wound, like a spider’s web. Scales that shown like bejeweled armor glistened upon its body. Its tail crashed against the air; the storm surge of an impetuous sea. The shadow it cast was an aperture of dementia that ripped asunder the sanity of those who watched. Astride the beast’s spine, rode a figure that resembled a man, but with such grandeur at his disposal, appeared a living god.

I feel that we are often taken out of our comfort zones, pushed and shoved out of our nests, because if not, we would never know what we could do with our wings, we would never see the horizon and the sun setting on it, we would never know that there's something far better beyond where we are at the moment. It can hurt, but then later you say "thank you." I have been pushed and shoved and have fallen out and away, so very, very, many, many times! And others around me have not! But then, the others haven't seen what I have seen or felt what I have felt or been who I have been, they can't become what I have become. I am me.

If you're in a fair fight, you didn't plan it properly.

If I could fly, I would soar all the way up to the window of a plane carrying a suitcase in my hand, then I’d motion toward the plane’s door and make an annoyed face at the terrified passengers. I have a feeling I would do this a lot.

If no one can fly but you that is amazing; if everyone can fly but you that is amazing too!

If people can fly, that will be good; they will hang around in the sky and the ground will be quieter!

If you never dream of flying, then you'll never wake up with wings.

I keep quiet and look out the window. The light is weak and watery-looking, like the sun hast just spilled itself over the horizon and is too lazy to clean itself up. The shadows are as sharp and pointed as needles. I watch three black crows take off simultaneausly from a telephone wire and wish I could take off too, move up, up, up, and watch the ground drop away from me the way it does when you're on an airplane, folding and compressing into itself like an origami figure, until everything is flat and brightly colored - until the world is like a drawing of itself

I give you my wings.

I have wings on the back of my shoulders, and I'm ready to fly.

Ihr stellt Euch ein Leben, in dem man seine eigenen Entscheidungen treffen kann, vor, wie sich andere vorstellen, fliegen zu können. Sie sehen, wie ein Falke über ihnen kreist, und dann sagen sie zu sich selbst, wie schön es wäre, auch so fliegen zu können. Aber Tauben fliegen auch und Spatzen ebenfalls. Niemand wünscht sich je ein Spatz zu sein.