Quotes About Cuckoo

And I still walk the sidewalk mumbling something about how it will all be fine Fine is its own crazy village on the Rhine Fine is the name of the cuckoo-clock maker Fine is the word the cuckoo cries every hour after hour on the hour— scrambling out of its dark little hole like something being chased with a knife by Time

In Switzerland they had brotherly love, five hundred years of democracy and peace, and what did they produce? The cuckoo clock!

Barbara Stanwyck movies drove me nuts, like 'Ball of Fire' and 'Double Indemnity.' I used to go cuckoo when I would see those films.

That sounds self-indulgent and gratifying without vulgar ostentation," says I; "and I don't see how money could be better invested. Give me a cuckoo clock and a Sep Winner's Self-Instructor for the Banjo, and I'll join you.

Switzerland is a small, steep country, much more up and down than sideways, and is all stuck over with large brown hotels built on the cuckoo clock style of architecture.

I'm not a cuckoo, either. I'm a fool is what.

E lu cuccu ci dissi a li cuccotti: a lu chiaruchiaru nni vidiemmo tutti

She's cute, but she's cuckoo. She wouldn't be his daughter if she wasn't. You can't tell how much of what she says is what she thinks. And you can't tell how much of what she thinks ever really happened.

By being seldom seen, I could not stir, But, like a comet, I was wondered at... He was but as the cuckoo is in June, Heard, not regarded--seen, but with such eyes, As, sick and blunted with community, Afford no extraordinary gaze.

The behavior of the pigeon is beyond reproach, but the mountain cuckoo?

I was satisfied with haiku until I met you, jar of octopus, cuckoo's cry, 5-7-5, but now I want a russian novel, a 50-page description of you sleeping, another 75 of what you think staring at your window.

High on the kitchen wall of an old farm-house on a mountain-side in Switzerland there hangs a tiny wooden clock. In the tiny wooden clock there lives a tiny wooden cuckoo, and every hour he hops out of his tiny wooden door, takes a look about to see what is going on in the world, shouts out the time of day, and pops back again into his little dark house, there to wait and tick away the minutes until it is time once more to tell the hour.

The cuckoo shows melancholia, not madness. Like Byron, he goes about wailing his sad lot, and now and then dropping an egg into someone else's nest.

They set off through the soft lingering light. One cuckoo in the depths of Layer Wood and one in the dense shrubbery of the Dower House were keeping up their eternal question and answer, and in the comparative coolness which had come with the evening all the scents of summer had magnified.

Politics is like a grandfather clock. The pendulum swings left, the pendulum swings right and every so often a cuckoo pops out.