Quotes About Crows

My dragons!' she insisted. 'She has finally found a flock to join,' he observed to me. 'Her own kind always pecked her. But the dragons have taken her in.' ...'If a flock of crows is a murder, what should we call a group of dragons?' ... 'A catastrophe of dragons.

Bob repeats an option that sounds pretty close to the birds I've been hearing in the morning. Not knowing amy species, I've been referring to them mentally as the happy birds. Versus crows and ravens, which are never happy. And seagulls and pigeons. which are just plain annoying.

There had been moments when she'd sensed his presence nearby, like when the crows left her gifts, for example. Her trinket bowl was chockablock full of screws, paper clips, buttons, broken clamshells, bits of tinfoil, beads and stray earrings.

A crow can recall every route it has ever taken, and Cadin had been this way before. Crows are messengers, spies, guides, companions, harbingers of luck, deliverers of trinkets and treasures, tireless in all ways, more loyal than any other man or beast.

What was desire anyway, when examined in the clear light of day? Was it the way a woman searched for her clothes in the morning, or the manner in which a man might watch her sit before the mirror and comb her hair? Was it a pale November dawn, when ice formed on windowpanes and crows called from the bare black trees? Or was it the way a person might yield to the night, setting forth on a path so unexpected that daylight would never again be completely clear?

crows were more intelligent than most men, and more loyal, and that you could not choose them, they must choose you, they must come to you and once they did they would never leave you, at least not of their own accord.

Six crows sit in our greengage tree. Half awake, I hear them speak to me in Haisla.

He and Werner eat their first meal in their starchy new uniforms at a long wooden table in the refectory. Some boys talk in whispers, some sit alone, some gulp food as if they have not eaten in days. Through three arched windows, dawn sends a sheaf of hallowed golden rays. Frederick flutters his fingers and asks, "Do you like birds?" "Sure." "Do you know about hooded crows?

The crows assert that a single crow could destroy the heavens. This is certainly true, but it proves nothing against the heavens, because heaven means precisely: the impossibility of crows.

But unlike most birds, crows also appear to fly for reasons that defy scientific explanation, though to us it seems obvious. They fly for fun. Any windy day will fling crows into the air like leaves, diving, wheeling, rising, tumbling. I see them, and think that if I were a bird, I would want to fly like a crow—with enough of a brain to love it. It might even make it worth it having to eat dead city rats if I could fly like that.

Crows can get us out of bed. And they can do a lot more than that for us if we allow them.

The Crows of the region could have told them that there are almost always more Crows around them than they can see; but like the few snowflakes that fall on your tongue or autumn leaves you can catch, it's only the ones you can count that matter.

But reality has too much darkness in it. Too many crows

Where there's a doctor it's always a bad sign. Even when they are not doing the killing themselves it means a death is close, and in that way they are like ravens or crows.

Where there are wars, there will be crows, the carrion-fanciers. And ravens too, the warbirds, the eyeball gourmands. And vultures, the holy birds of yore, old connoisseurs of rot.

dark furrow lines grid the snow, punctuated by orange abacus beads of pumpkins - now the crows own the field...

KINOHI'S tragicomic sex life provides more evidence—if any more was needed—of how seriously humans take extinction. Such is the pain the loss of a single species causes that we're willing to perform ultrasounds on rhinos and handjobs on crows.

Hoheit, do you know why crows are black? No, I never thought of it. They taste lousy, and they're black as a sure sign to predators that they're crows, who will taste lousy. Why aren't they yellow? They live in cold climates, and black absorbs heat. They don't need camouflage, so they can take advantage of the way their color soaks up the sunlight. Why do you ask me these questions? Klodwig demanded. To remind you, Hoheit, not to argue with nature.

Such bickerings to recount, met often in these our writers, what more worth is it than to chronicle the wars of kites or crows flocking and fighting in the air?

I knew by the signs it would be a hard winter. The hollies bore a heavy crop of berries and birds stripped them bare. Crows quarreled in reaped fields and owls cried in the mountains, mournful as widows. Fur and moss grew thicker than usual. Cold rains came, driven sideways through the trees by north winds, and snows followed.

the crows turned, and its eyes flashed with fire. A blood-chilling caw cracked the brittle air. Rachel slid her machete from its canvas sheath, but the crow veered wildly and then rejoined the broken formation heading south toward the distant city of mutants. DeVontay Jones chuckled

shimmered behind the clouds as if the black birds were swimming against a frothy tide. The hardwood trees on the surrounding Appalachian slopes were gone to gold and scarlet, and the strange light hinted at the gray winter waiting ahead. One of the crows turned, and its eyes flashed with fire. A blood-chilling caw cracked the brittle air. Rachel slid her

Crows gather in a tree barren of leaves and make its branches appear heavy with some black, poisonous fruit.

She's sent the crows out to blind the guests coming for dinner! What? She's BLINDING THE GUESTS COMING FOR DINNER! Well, that's one way to avoid having to dust, I suppose.