Quotes About Wings

I love America. America gave me wings.

I that have love and no more Give you but love of you, sweet; He that hath more, let him give; He that hath wings, let him soar; Mine is the heart at your feet Here, that must love you to live.

Love travels the miles upon the wings of Angels.

Nothing goes far which has not the wings of love to make it buoyant, so that it can fly.

De onrust schenkt vleugels aan de verbeelding

I saw twelve angels wheeling in the sun, rays of white wings and gold light. "Swans!

Nothing moves fast in Texas except the windmills And the hawk that rises up with a clatter of wings. (Nothing more startling there than sudden motion, Everything is so still.)

Arrows of insight have to be winged by the feathers of speculation.

Their wings will shadow the sun, their breath will scorch the earth, and their fire will consume the righteous! So we all die ? No, no, no! We fight them! How do you fight a dragon ? I asked him. With prayer, boy, with prayer. So we all die.

At night I would lie in bed and watch the show, how bees squeezed through the cracks of my bedroom wall and flew circles around the room, making that propeller sound, a high-pitched zzzzzz that hummed along my skin. I watched their wings shining like bits of chrome in the dark and felt the longing build in my chest. The way those bees flew, not even looking for a flower, just flying for the feel of the wind, split my heart down its seam.

In writing The Invention of Wings, I was inspired by the words of Professor Julius Lester, which I kept propped on my desk: "History is not just facts and events. History is also a pain in the heart and we repeat history until we are able to make another's pain in the heart our own." ACKNOWLEDGMENTS My deepest thanks to . . .

There was a sound like a rush of wings in the blackish clouds, and I knew his spirit had left him. I imagined it like a great flock of birds, soaring, scattering, coming to rest everywhere.

Can I love someone...and still think/fly? Love is flying, sown, floating. Thought is solitary flight, beating wings.

His leap was exact, mathematical. The initial arc - head tucked between taut arms that spread out gradually like wings - was as graceful as a swan dive.

Today in my heart a vague trembling of stars, but my way is lost in the soul of the mist. Light lops my wings.

Between my shoulders, my full and golden soul takes wing. The April sky turns my eyes indigo.

I ain't scared to do another dating show, but I ain't really trying to. I want to do a talk show or something. I've done enough dating on television. I'm ready to spread my wings, and go down other avenues.

The eagle ... can lock its wings and wait for the right wind. He waits for the updraft and never has to flap his wings, just soar. As as we wait on God He will help us use the adversities and strong winds to benefit us. The Bible says, 'They that wait upon the Lord ... shall mount up with wings as eagles' (Isaiah 40:31)

Dig down, fly high, remember where you want to go, and one day you'll get there: Roots + Wings + Dreams=Home!

No, that flapping isn't all the pigeons in the park zeroing in on some spilled popcorn! That antediluvian (old and prehistoric) scream that's numbing your brain isn't a subway on a curve! No, it's the one and only Thunderbird --just released from a long, long nap in a cave on the Kijowa reservation by Tom Tallwolf and J. Jay Jaye, known as The Big Promoter! But it looks like all he's promoted now is...trouble with wings!

A corner draft fluttered the flameAnd the white fever of temptationUpswept its angel wings that castA cruciform shadow.

What kind of bird do you think these feathers come from?' she asked. 'I don't know. A swan?' 'You had better stop wearing those wings, then. A swan might fall in love with you. And as you probably know, swans mate for life.' 'You are a funny one, Rose.

The sun shone out warmly; the birds were singing in the trees. The happy birds - I envied them. I wished for wings like them, that I might cleave the air to where my birdlings waited vainly for their father's coming, in the cooler region of the North.

My wings grow, slightly longer than the length of my back. The gossamer width of them pushes free. They unfurl with a soft whisper on the air—a sigh. As if they, too, seek relief. Freedom.