Quotes About Wings

Tell your mother the Law of Stolen Flight.' 'Only flame, and things with wings. All the rest suffer stings.

Between death and hell a bridge shining silver wings offers his soul hope.

Death wins nothing here, gnawing wings that amputate–– then spread, lift up, fly.

If it wasn't for all those silver wings spread out to help you on your journey, you would'a been dead or someplace screamin' in a nut house a long time ago.

Le?my, szcz??ciem zosta?y pióra do powrotu, Le?my i nigdy odt?d nie zni?ajmy lotu.

A bad rumour flies on wings.

Peace, my heart, let the time for the parting be sweet. Let it not be a death but completeness. Let love melt into memory and pain into songs. Let the flight through the sky end in the folding of the wings over the nest. Let the last touch of your hands be gentle like the flower of the night. Stand still, O Beautiful End, for a moment, and say your last words in silence. I bow to you and hold up my lamp to light you on your way.

Lately I think of myself as more bird than human.

They all have tired mouths and bright seamless souls. And a longing (as for sin) sometimes haunts their dreams. They are almost all alike; in God's gardens they keep still, like many, many intervals in his might and melody. Only when they spread their wings are they wakers of a wind: as if God with his broad sculptor- hands leafed through the pages in the dark book of the beginning.

So when the soul of the poet has come to ripeness of thought, she detaches and sends away from it its poems or songs,—a fearless, sleepless, deathless progeny, which is not exposed to the accidents of the weary kingdom of time: a fearless, vivacious offspring, clad with wings (such was the virtue of the soul out of which they came), which carry them fast and far, and infix them irrecoverably into the hearts of men. These wings are the beauty of the poet's soul.

Solitude, the safeguard of mediocrity, is to genius the stern friend, the cold, obscure shelter where moult the wings which will bear it farther than suns and stars. He who should inspire and lead his race must be defended from travelling with the souls of other men, from living, breathing, reading, and writing in the daily, time-worn yoke of their opinions.

For communication to be effective, especially in matters as life-defining as the gospel message, truth and relevance are the two indispensable wings on which it is borne.

The cat came first, in order to be absolute first. It arrived when all the cribs and closets and cellar bins and attic hang-spaces still needed October wings, autumn breathings, and fiery eyes.

Verifiable knowledge makes its way slowly, and only under cultivation, but fable has burrs and feet and claws and wings and an indestructible sheath like weed-seed, and can be carried almost anywhere and take root without benefit of soil or water.

The viewless air seemed to be flocking with hidden listeners. The very clearness and the crystal silence were their ambush. He alone seemed to be the target of cold and hostile scrutiny. There was not a breath to breathe in this crisp, pale sunshine. It was all too rare, too thin. The shadows lay like wings everlastingly folded.

So, it's like calling out for Chinese? An order of Sum Yung Gai with wings?

and as streams of light fan out behind the darkened sun like the wings of a butterfly, i realize that i never saw true beauty until now.

A bird that doesn't know freedom doesn't know what wings are for.

All birds have wings, those who believe in freedom don't live in cages. But there are those who know what freedom is, but prefer to be trapped in their own opinions.

I knew the Spring was come. I knew it even Better than all by this, that through my chase In bush and stone and hill and sea and heaven I seem'd to see and follow still your face. Your face my quarry was. For it I rode, My horse a thing of wings, myself a god.

and the moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease forever to be able to do it. The reason birds can fly and we can't is simply that they have perfect faith, for to have faith is to have wings.

I would have liked to catch hold of sleep at least once, just as I had been resolved to catch hold of death one day, to catch hold of the wings of the angel of sleep when it came for me, to grab it with two fingers like a butterfly after sneaking up on it from behind. [...] My sleep game was practice for the grand struggle with death.

As in the cold season their wings bear the starlings along in a broad, dense flock, so does that blast the wicked spirits. Hither, thither, downward, upward, it drives them.

Heartache can be a flow of consciousness flying on the wings of love.