Quotes About Wings

Only wings evade death. Neruda says so.' As he turns the page he looks at Zara and makes his bright blue eyes big. 'And Neruda knows.' He reaches for his pipe. Zara stares at him for some time. 'Was he a friend of God?' Who? Neruda?' Yes.' He may have been, I'm not sure, petite. For all we know he may even have been God.

If I had the wings of a swan, over these stony hills I would fly. I would fly to the arms of my true love, and there I'd be happy to die.

The ones I loved fly as birds in the open sky above me. Soaring, weaving, calling to me to join them. I want so badly to follow them, but the seawater saturates my wings, making it impossible to lift them. The ones I hated have taken to the water, horrible scaled things that tear my salty flesh with needle teeth. Biting again and again. Dragging me beneath the surface.

suddenly opened its wings to reveal two patches of dazzling white as it lifted its beak in song. Coriolanus felt sure he'd spotted his first mockingjay, and he disliked the thing on sight.

The wings are not representative of angelic status—angels themselves do not have wings, as you have been told. The image of wings is symbolic of soaring beyond beliefs and philosophies not based in truth, but rather based in perceived separation.

My thoughts are wing'd with hopes, My hopes with love.Thoughts, hopes and love return to me no more, Until Cynthia shine as she hath done before.

Love drowns dreary thoughtsIt gives wings to our heart, It transports us into another worldA world of blissful choice

My arms would be wrapped around him like angels' wings.

One day we wake from sleep to wander through this tale of dreams with wings fluttering lighter than love free.

She has wings the color of wild and a soul the color of art.

Bring wings to the weak and bring grace to the strongMay all evil stumble as it flies in the worldAll the tribes comes and the mighty will crumbleWe must brave this night and have faith in love

Storm fronts that linger upon the horizon; white plastic places where every thought dies in; swabbies and cocktails and parrots' bright wings; these are a few of his least-favorite things.

Le Poëte est semblable au prince des nuées Qui hante la tempête et se rit de l'archer; Exilé sur le sol au milieu des huées, Ses ailes de géant l'empêchent de marcher.

Le Poète est semblable au prince des nuées Qui hante la tempête et se rit de l'archer; Exilé sur le sol au milieu des huées, Ses ailes de géant l'empêchent de marcher.

The poet resembles this prince of cloud and sky Who frequents the tempest and laughs at the bowman; When exiled on the earth, the butt of hoots and jeers, His giant wings prevent him from walking.

Felice chiunque può con ala vigorosa slanciarsi verso terre luminose e serene, chi sente i suoi pensieri come allodole in viaggio nel cielo del mattino in libertà volare, chi plana sulla vita e così può ascoltare delle tacite cose e dei fiori il linguaggio.

O Poeta é como esse príncipe que voa sobre as praias/ Que moteja o arqueiro e assombra a tempestade no ar;/ No chão, exilado e em meio a vaias,/ As suas asas de gigante não o permitem caminhar.

Firewyrms (I refuse to dignify those things by calling them dragons; real dragons should be elegant reptilian predators, not sea slugs with wings that vomit acid).

Oh, that I had the wings of a dove! I would fly away and be at rest." —PSALM 55:6

All she saw, down in the cellar well beneath the stoop, was a light yellow feather with a tip of green. And she had never named him. Had called him my parrot all these years. My parrot. Love you. Love you. Did the dogs get him? Or did he get the message - that she said, My parrot and he said, Love you, and she had never said it back or even taken the trouble to name him - and manage somehow to fly away on wings that had not soared for six years.

But the free fall, oh no, that required—demanded—invention: a thing to do with the wings, a way of holding the legs and most of all a full surrender to the downward flight if they wished to taste their tongues or stay alive.

Love has no desire but to fulfill itself. To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night. To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving.

We have a saying in my culture. Dios no le diá, alas a los alacranes: God did not give wings to scorpions. No. They seem a little scary at first, but look how small they are, how bitter and ugly. They just have to crawl around in everybody else's mierda, waiting for the chance to sting someone. Pobrecita... don't it just suck to be a bottom feeder? Don't it just?

They travel through the night on the wings of heavenly stallions bringing hope and new faith to those left behind. Even though they are free, they never forget their past and spend their lives trying to bring peace to others. (Brotherhood Chanson)