Quotes About Birds

Nature has no beauty forbiddenManmade concrete slab: guilt-riddenWings or leaves whatever we may careThose limbs with the birds only trees will share

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

For nature does things in good order: And birds and butterflies recognizeNo man-made border

All around us, birds woke up the sky.

Long before the stars died the birds began to sing - cool rippling doves, loud cheery starlings, the long lilting trills of warblers and thrushes.

How can one deceive these dear little birds, when they look at one so sweetly and confidingly? I call them birds because there is nothing in the world better than birds!

It was one of those perfect summer days - the sun was shining a breeze was blowing the birds were singing and the lawnmower was broken.

Birds, birds, birds, I'm a Pet Shop Boy

Most birds are geniuses. We had one that became a pet; he learned to talk, use tools and solve problems.

As a human being it is just my nature to enjoy and share philosophy. I do this in the same way that some birds are eagles and some doves, some flowers lilies and some roses.

Love is for the birds.Honey is for the bees.And you, my special one.Are the only one for me.

The poetry of earth is never dead When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide I cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead.

Researchers into bird communication have revealed the astonishing fact that not only do ravens listen to the gossip of neighbouring flocks, but they pay especially close attention when it tells of a reversal in another bird's status.

The trees are Indian Princes, But soon they'll turn to Ghosts; The scanty pears and apples Hang russet on the bough; Its Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late, 'Twill soon be Winter now. Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear! And what will this poor Robin do? For pinching days are near.

Animal substance seems to be the first food of all birds, even the granivorous tribes.

He who shall hurt the little wren Shall never bebeloved by men.

O SWEET everlasting Voices, be still; Go to the guards of the heavenly fold And bid them wander obeying your will, Flame under flame, till Time be no more; Have you not heard that our hearts are old, That you call in birds, in wind on the hill, In shaken boughs, in tide on the shore? O sweet everlasting Voices, be still.

Old age isa flight of smallcheeping birdsskimmingbare treesabove a snow glaze.

The summer morn is bright and fresh, the birds are darting by, As if they loved to breast the breeze that sweeps the cool clear sky.

In the silence that followed the end of the call to prayer, the songs of the first Delhi birds could suddenly be heard: the argumentative chuckle of the babblers, the sharp chatter of the mynahs, the alternating clucking and squealing of the rosy parakeets, the angry exclamations of the brain fever bird, and from deep inside the canopy of the fruit trees in Zafar's gardens at Raushanara Bagh and Tis Hazari, the woody hot-weather echo of the koel.

My feathered friends were so much to me that I am constantly tempted to make this sketch of my first years a book about birds and little else.

Memories sing to us, he told me. They're birds whose songs never fade.

8th Moon, 17th Night: Facing the Moon The autumn moon is still round tonight. In this river village, isolate old wanderer Hoisting blinds, I return to its brilliance, And propped on a cane, follow it further: Radiance rousing hidden dragons, bright Scatters of birds aflutter. Thatched study Incandescent, I trust to this orange grove Ablaze: clear dew aching with fresh light. Tu Fu

BP has put more birds in oil than Colonel Sanders.