Quotes About Feathers

Rachel and Kirsty could help the Weather Fairies recover all of Doodle's stolen feathers.

A mourning dove's beauty is an understated one: the colors of its feathers ranging through various shades of gray and drab violet, often with a striking splash of turquoise around the eyes.

Snow was coming down thicker now. But while it was heavy, it was also gentle. Like feathers out of a broken pillow.

He gave her gifts: a crown of ice, woven with berries, feathers, and the light of love in his wild fox eyes.

They danced. For three long winter nights. They slept through the short times of light, curled in each other's company. She gave him gifts: a lapwing wrapped in feathers, beaded with frost, a bowl of bright rosehips.

Swinburne was an absurd character. He was a bird of showy strut and plumage. One could not but admire his glorious feathers; but, as soon as he began to moult ... one saw how very little body there was underneath.

There is one more thing," said Mr. Peabody. "Now you must go and pick up all the feathers." ... "I don't think it's possible to pick up all the feathers," Tommy replied. "It would be just as impossible to undo the damage that you have done by spreading the rumor that I am a thief," said Mr. Peabody. "Each feather represents a person in Happyville." ... "Next time, don't be so quick to judge a person. And remember the power of your words.

The bird came after Lucas again and he swatted at it with his gun, smacked it hard, two or three small feathers flying.

Thing is, I am not a big fan of hovers. I firmly believe that if man was meant to fly we'd have feathers, rubber bones, or better insurance coverage.

The things that Irish setter cold do! She could scent birds even in dry weather when other dogs just sat down on their haunches and gave up. She could find them if they were hidden in a haystack. She could fly over brush and fences and brooks as if she had wings on her feet instead of feathers.

There had been a frozen mist here, and the trees were spun into feathers. Their fragile brilliance made me wonder why, into the spotlessness of Creation, God had seen fit to introduce soiling, twisting, rampaging, Man.

PORTUGUESE, n.pl. A species of geese indigenous to Portugal. They are mostly without feathers and imperfectly edible, even when stuffed with garlic.

I am the hawk and there's blood in my feathers, but time is still turning they soon will be dry. And all those who see me and all who believe in me, share in the freedom I feel when I fly.

Parrots make great pets. They have more personality than goldfish.

I think we're a kind of desperation. We're sort of a maddening luxury. The basic and essential human is the woman, and all that we're doing is trying to brighten up the place. That's why all the birds who belong to our sex have prettier feathers because males have got to try and justify their existence.

The man flaps about with a bunch of feathers: the woman goes to work softly with a cloth.

As a bird with beautiful feathers is the target of hunters, so the gifted are targets of the envious.

Moths have antennae that look like miniature feathers. They work like radio aerials, picking up far-away signals. So they can scent "moth sugar" from miles away. Wait until late afternoon to spread "moth sugar," so the sun will cook but not evaporate it

As pálpebras são asas que nos restaram de um tempo anterior, quando fomos aves. E as pestanas são as sobreviventes plumas.

The fact remains: Good design is testable, and design that isn't testable is bad.

her newly coiffed hair now jutting from her head like feathers on a badly plucked chicken.

llium snorted. "I look like a damned duck." His words weren't far off the mark. The feathers that had grown over the injured section were soft, white, and delicately … fluffy. "I hope to hell these baby feathers fall off and get replaced by real ones. They will, won't they?" He sounded worried.

Sure you can handle me, pretty, pretty Bluebell?" "Did I ever tell you about my snakeskin boots?" "I do think I need some new feathers for my pillow.

Someone is singing from the bed of red flowers, a lover recounting his past passion. What has happened, friends? The solitude of this house of flowers has been shattered, a broken wing is mourning its lost feathers and its flight through the universe.