Quotes About Birds

A wise old owl sat on an oak. The more he saw, the less he spoke. The less he spoke, the more he heard. Why can't we be like that old bird?

Of falling leaves and melting snows, of birds In their delights Some poets sing their melodies tendering my nights sweetly.

But ask the animals, and they will teach you, or the birds in the sky, and they will tell you … In his hand is the life of every creature and the breath of all mankind.

when you're in a rain forest, where the density and diversity of wildlife are the greatest, you will always hear critters entering the soundscape each day in a structured order, almost as if following Darwin's timeline of evolution: insects first, then amphibians, then reptiles, then birds, then mammals." [from an interview in Sun Magazine © 2014]

But Hopes are Shy Birds flying at a great distance seldom reached by the best of Guns.

The lark that shuns on lofty boughs to build, Her humble nest, lies silent in the field.

Quella sera, non fossero stati tanto i forestieri ad abbattere i passerotti, quanto piuttosto questi ultimi, uccelli magici volati da un luogo sconosciuto, a prendere d'assalto le loro anime vagabonde.

the sky dark with wheeling birds.

Writing is one of the loneliest professions in the world because it has to be practiced in this very separate private world, in _here_. Not in the mind; in the imagination. And I think it is possible that the writing of fantasy is the loneliest job of the lot, since you have to go further inside. You have to make so close a connection with the unconscious that the unbiddable door will open and the images fly out, like birds.

The ears of an Old One know that birds do not speak with the precision of words; instead they communicate with emotion. There are many kinds and degrees of emotion, and there are many kinds of expression even in the language of a bird.

A group of parrots is called a pandemonium.

This experience led me to form a hypothesis: perhaps the wisdom of birds resides, not in the individual, but in the flock, the congregation.

The sky spoke to him. It was a language he had never heard before. He was not even certain there were words. Perhaps it only spoke to him in the black writing the birds made. He was small and unprotected and there was no escape. He was caught between earth and sky as if cupped between two hands. They could crush him if they chose.

I lined a fishing net with heavy-gauge plastic. Inside I placed what I thought was the right amount of nesting material for two such enormous birds. It approximated to three days' fuel. This was no insignificant amount and I knew that I might be colder because I had given it away. But what is a few days of feeling cold compared to a new albatross in the World?..

The pools had been written onto the fields by the rain. The pools were a magic worked by the rain, just as the tumbling of the black birds against the grey was a spell that the sky was working and the motion of grey-brown grasses was a spell that the wind made. Everything had meaning.

birds flew by, As lightly and as free, Ten thousand stars were in the sky, Ten thousand on the sea. For every rippling, dancing wave, That leaped upon the air, Had caught a star in its embrace, And held it trembling there.

Wait until morning," Leila told me. "That's when the choir comes out. Sometimes I think I should have called this place the Bird Hotel.

Si a uno no lo asaltaba la melancolía, se podía caminar hacia el atardecer con pájaros sobre y en la cabeza o los oídos.

So that the vines burst from my fingers And the bees weighted with pollen Move heavily in the vine-shoots: chirr---chirr---chir-rikk---a purring sound, And the birds sleepily in the branches. ZAGREUS! IO ZAGREUS!

But as for the rest of you, sisters, when anyone says to you, this, that or the other is natural, then fight. Nature does not know best; for the birds, for the bees, for the cows; for men, perhaps. But your interests and Nature's do not coincide. Nature our Friend is an argument used, quite understandably, by men.

El campo de olivos se abre y se cierra como un abanico. Sobre el olivar hay un cielo hundido y una lluvia oscura de luceros fríos. Tiembla junco y penumbra a la orilla del río. Se riza el aire gris. Los olivos, están cargados de gritos. Una bandada de pájaros cautivos, que mueven sus larguísimas colas en lo sombrío.

El Tamarit tiene un manzano con una manzana de sollozos. Un ruiseñor apaga los sospiros, y un faisán los ahuyente por el polvo. Pero los ramos son alegres, los ramos son como nosotros. No piensan en la lluvia y se han dormido, como si fueran árboles, de pronto.

The he-lizard is crying. The she-lizard is crying. The he-lizard and the she-lizard with little white aprons. Have lost without wanting to their wedding ring. Ah, their little leaden wedding ring, ah, their little ring of lead! A large sky without people carries the birds in its balloon. The sun, rotund captain, wears a satin waistcoat. Look how old they are! How old the lizards are! Oh, how they cry and cry, Oh! Oh! How they go on crying!

Con cada risotada expelo un pájaro. Y como yo, la gente que ríe a cualquier hora, en cualquier parcela jubilosa de la Tierra, hace crecer la bandada que puntea con sus trinos y colores la claridad de nuestros días.