Quotes About Hawk

Hamlet knows a hawk from a handsaw, I know blasphemy from a lie and plagiarism from a bad decision.

Septa Mordane said boar hunting was not for ladies, and Mother only promised that when she was older she might have her own hawk. She was older now, but if she had a hawk she'd eat it. -Arya Stark

Septa Mordane said boar hunting was not for ladies, and mother only promised that when she was older she might have her own hawk. She was older now, but if she had a hawk she'd eat it.

Being a defense hawk and a budget hawk are not mutually exclusive.

And there came a day when the hawk's shadow did not drive him crouching into the bushes. He had grown stronger and wiser, and more confident. Also, he was desperate. So he sat on his haunches, conspicuously in an open space, and challenged the hawk down out of the sky. For he knew that there, floating in the blue above him, was meat, the meat his stomach yearned after so insistently.

Kogo, the goshawk, fluttered on his wrist and settled herself, watching him. Toranaga smiled at her. I did not choose to be what I am. It is my karma.

The power of love is a curious thing, make one man weep, make another man sing. Change a hawk to a little white dove, more than a feeling, that's the power of love.

I would look down from the Point to see a hawk riding the updrafts from the ridges below me and I would think: I am higher than he is. This is what it's like to fly.

But something is always impelling one to hum vibrating, like the hawk moth, at the mouth of the cavern of mystery.

Hawk's wings, to match her sharp instincts, her hard looks. She looked soft now—softer than the air and the clouds around her. Tender. Cradled in blue. Fang was holding his breath. He could see her face now, her mouth open in a perfect O, caught in mid-sentence, drawing in.

turned to watch the hawk he'd pointed out. "Yeah

It seems that the most important thing about Reagan was his anti-Communism and his reputation as a hawk who saw the Soviet Union as an 'evil empire.'

All this time, masquerading as a nice, well-bred girl when I was a stream in flood, a length of fire, the fall of a hawk.

A Hawk and a Hacksaw may be from America, but the band's music sure isn't: Since the beginning, Eastern Europe has been an unwavering source of musical inspiration, not to mention fertile touring ground, for the group.

I'll just say it was a combination of a lot of people within the AEW upper office that decided that it was a good idea to have the 'Murder Hawk Monster' on AEW television.

Anyone who has ever stopped to watch a hawk in flight will know that this is one of the natural world's most elegant phenomena.

I don't think radio is selling records like they used to. They'd hawk the song and hawk the artist and you'd get so excited, you'd stop your car and go into the nearest record store.

Above me, far out from the cliff, a wide-winged Thomas Hawk circles above the lagoon on rising thermals and scans the shifting bluekelp beds with its infrared vision, seeking out harp seals or torpids. Nature is stupid, I think and sit in the soft grass.

The hawk was everything I wanted to be: solitary, self-possessed, free from grief, and numb to the hurts of human life.

The hawk had filled the house with wildness as a bowl of lilies fills a house with scent.

The hawk is on my fist. Thirty ounces of death in a feathered jacket; a being whose world is drawn in plots and vectors that pull her towards lives' ends.

I'd wanted to escape history by running to the hawk. Forget the darkness, forget Göring's hawks, forget death, forget all the things that had been before. But my flight was wrong. Worse than wrong. It was dangerous. I must fight, always, against forgetting.

The hawk was a fire that burned my hurts away. There could be no regret or mourning in her. No past or future. She lived in the present only, and that was my refuge. My flight from death was on her barred and beating wings. But I had forgotten that the puzzle that was death was caught up in the hawk, and I was caught up in it too.

I look. There it is. I feel it. The insistent pull to the heart that the hawk brings, that very old longing of mine to possess the hawk's eye. To live the safe and solitary life; to look down on the world from a height and keep it there. To be the watcher; invulnerable, detached, complete. My eyes fill with water. Here I am, I think. And I do not think I am safe.