Quotes About Bird

Us way down to the body. There the bird

One of these was a cage of fine golden wire, within it a bird fashioned of tiny shells. And there were more baskets, made of cloves strung on wire with a glass bead inset on every wire crossing.

stalk2 v. 1 [with obj.] pursue or approach stealthily: a cat stalking a bird. harass or persecute (someone) with unwanted and obsessive attention: for five years she was stalked by a man who would taunt and threaten her.

A secret in his mouth, is like a wild bird put into a cage; whose door no sooner opens, but 'tis out.

I mean not offence. I have done with that subject. My Lord, to be sure, has dominion over his bird. He can choose her cage. She has nothing to do, but sit and sing in it — when her instrument is mended, and in tune — He has but one fault. He is too good-natured to his bird. But would he take your advice, madam —

There are no coincidences, only mysteries that haven't been solved, clues that haven't been placed. Most are blind to the language of the bird overhead, the leaf in our path, the phonographic record stuck in a groove, the unknown caller on the phone. They don't see the omens. They don't know the signs.

Leave the wonder of a bird wing or the simplicity of the blade of grass to the saints and the hermits. Most men need to be overwhelmed in order to appreciate the divine.

Nice bird, asshole!

Hoverboarding looks so fun, like being a bird. But actually doing it is hard work. Shay shrugged. Being a bird's probably hard work too. Flapping your wings all day, you know?

Artists talk a lot about freedom. So, recalling the expression "free as a bird," Morton Feldman went to a park one day and spent some time watching our feathered friends. When he came back, he said, "You know? They're not free: they're fighting over bits of food.

Every true writer is like a bird; he repeats the same song, the same theme, all his life. For me, this theme as always been revolt.

What I saw was just one eye In the dawn as I was going: A bird can carry all the sky In that little button glowing. Never in my life I went So deep into the firmament.

There is no being capable of a spiritual life who does not have within him a jungle. Where the wolf constantly HOWLS and the OBSCENE bird of night chatters endlessly.

Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of SpringThe Winter garment of Repentance fling:The Bird of Time has but a little wayTo fly—and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.

Avanzo lentamente, estoy muy lejos de pintar como el pájaro canta, como lo pedía Renoir. Pero soy tu pájaro al fin y al cabo y he anidado para siempre entre tus manos.

The man in the seat ahead of me started tossing and turning. His pillow fell into my dessert. The pink whipped foam formed meaningful-looking patterns on the white fabric. I saw a bird—that meant travel.

I have never seen an insane bird.

But his bird says it's amazing, So now all that's left, Is the proof that Love's Not only blind but deaf.

Thanksgiving was always a favorite holiday for me. The preparation was fun! My grandma and I would walk to the butcher on Jamaica Avenue in Queens, order the bird, and buy all the fixings at the market.

Out of love alone shall my despising and my warning bird fly up, not out of swamp. (...) Where one can no longer love, there one should pass by.

The phoebe-bird is a wise architect and perhaps enjoys as great an immunity from danger, both in its person and its nest, as any other bird. Its modest ashen-gray suit is the color of the rocks where it builds, and the moss of which it makes such free use gives to its nest the look of a natural growth or accretion.

Hoy, en plena primavera, dejo abierta la puerta de la jaula al pobre pájaro azul.

Calla, calla, princesa —dice el hada madrina—; en caballo, con alas, hacia acá se encamina, en el cinto la espada y en la mano el azor, el feliz caballero que te adora sin verte, y que llega de lejos, vencedor de la Muerte, a encenderte los labios con un beso de amor

Through millions of years of evolution, nature has caged you within certain boundaries—this is the human predicament. But this imprisonment is only on the level of biology. On the level of human consciousness, you are like a bird in a cage without a door. What a tragic irony! It is only out of long aeons of habit that you are refusing to fly free. Life