Quotes About Bird

How can I be kind? How can I find bird-relief in the nest-building of day-to-day? Necessity supplies no velvet wing with which to escape. I am indeed and mortally pierced with the seeds of love.

Turning, she saw a crow staring at her from the balcony with its beady little dark eyes. The bird flapped its silken ebony wings at her and hopped to the chair closest to the open door. Wasn't there some superstition about crows and death?

Would a bird build its nest if it did not have its instinct for confidence in the world?

And then I saw it—not below, where I had looked, but over my head, a vast and noble curve stretching away to either side, with white cloud flying between ourselves and it, a world all speckled over with blue and green like the egg of a wild bird.

With the evolution of eyes came the possibility of visual ornaments. With the evolution of bird ears came the possibility of the bird song. And perhaps, with the evolution of language comprehension abilities in our ancestors, came the possibility of sexual selection for much more complicated thoughts and feelings expressed through language.

Gliders, sail planes, they're wonderful flying machines. It's the closest you can come to being a bird.

Intelligence without ambition is a bird without winds.

L'intelligenza senza ambizione è come un uccello senza ali.

It was an insane, impossible-to-keep promise, of course. But he didn't care. Because when he'd made it, his heart--which, he suddenly understood, had been useless up until now, just killing time pumping his blood around--his heart had lifted right out of his chest, as if it had been reborn as a bird, and was now soaring somwhere near the top of the watchtower. And the view from there was terrific.

Dreamily over the roofs The cold spring rain is falling; Out in the lonely tree A bird is calling, calling. Slowly over the earth The wings of night are falling; My heart like the bird in the tree Is calling, calling, calling.

Sometimes I think I don't have much choice in the matter. It's just what happens, and I'm following my instincts the whole time.

eux ils entendaient leur jeunesse frapper à leurs portes comme un oiseau enfermé.[...] C'était l'hymne de l'avenir, des départs, du terme de l'impatience. Ce qu'ils attendaient c'était de rejoindre cet air né du vertige des villes pour lequel il était fait, où il se chantait, des villes croulantes, fabuleuses, pleines d'amour.

She could see it surprised him, too, sometimes. He told her once when there was a storm a bird had flown into the house. He'd never seen one like it. The wind must have carried it in from some far-off place. He opened all the doors and windows, but it was so desperate to escape that for a while it couldn't find a way out. "It left a blessing in the house," he said. "The wildness of it. Bringing the wind inside.

He used the Sicilian phrase of the Mafia, "Fari vagnari a pizzu." Pizzu means the beak of any small bird such as a canary. The phrase itself was a demand for part of the loot.

Love is this elusive bird, he said. You're the lifelong bird-watcher, looking for this rare red-plumed quail people spend entire lives trying to see for three seconds in a cherry tree on a mountaintop in Japan. You're mistaking love for perfection, I said. Real love when it's there? It's just there. It's a metal folding chair.

The boy with red hair, who loved the picture of the bear, puts on as gruff as a voice as he can and quietly asks the boy holding bird if he can have it. It is as beautiful as the picture of the bear, if not more so. The boy holding the bird looks at him, smelling weakness and need. He turns and hurls the bird as far as he can into the sea. The boy with red hair nods and bites his lip and tries not to cry.

Oh bliss, bliss and heaven... Oh, it was gorgeousness and gorgeousity made flesh... And then, a bird of rarest-spun heaven metal, or like silvery wine flowing in a spaceship, gravity all nonsense now... I knew such lovely pictures - Alex

CHAPTER XXVII 'WONDERFUL BIRD!

The Great Bird will take its flight on the back of the great bird, bringing glory to the nest where it was born.

There was the girl, screaming like an angry bird, When it finds its nest left empt and little ones gone. - Sentry

Sweet the coming on / Of grateful evening mild; then silent night / With this her solemn bird and this fair moon, / And these the gems of heaven, her starry train.

The olive grove of Academe,Plato's retirement, where the Attic birdTrills her thick-warbled notes the summer long.

Sweet the coming onOf grateful ev'ning mild, then silent nightWith this her solemn bird, and this fair moon,And these the gems of heaven, her starry train.

Sweet bird, that shun the noise of folly, most musical, most melancholy!