Quotes About Birdsong

Quieres ver lo que no vieron ojos humanos? Mira la luna. ¿Quieres oír lo que los oídos no oyeron? Oye el grito del pájaro. ¿Quieres tocar lo que no tocaron las manos? Toca la tierra.

He liked to listen to the silence, he said, if silence could be listened to, for he went on, in that silence you could hear wildflower pollen sifting down the bee-fried air, by God, the bee-fried air! Listen! the waterfall of birdsong being those trees!

The silence of winter has already been broken by birdsong from crossbills, heralding the onset of spring. At one with the forest. For this man, the boreal forest is his home, his provider and he looks to the forest for the things he needs to live. He has no sense of isolation. He is a simple talker. This

He tried to get up and move, but a searing pain from his leg shot through him. The last thing he heard before he blacked out was the song of a bird, greeting the dawn.

I'll teach my boy the sweetest things; I'll teach him how the owlet sings.

If I were a bird, I will have no feet.

and every six seconds a blackbird

Over me green branches hang A blackbird leads the loud song; Above my penlined booklet I hear a fluting bird-throng. The cuckoo pipes a clear call Its dun cloak hid in deep dell; Praise to God for this goodness That in woodland I write well.

3 June. The air is full of birdsong now in June as it never is in July or August perhaps because it's too hot or because the birds have built their nests, raised their young and gone. Now there is trilling, chinking and chirruping, a dialogue of persistence and variety that goes on far into the night.

The birdsong was so loud that after it had woken you it drove you back to sleep.

Mma Ramotswe being sad was like a day with no sun, a day with no birdsong at dawn, a day without tea…One could go on, but the essential thing was that Mma Ramotswe should not look sad.

True solitude is a din of birdsong, seething leaves, whirling colors, or a clamor of tracks in the snow

In an area of more than 1,000 war graves and with birdsong as the only sound, I contemplated the thin margin between life and death. If the sniper's bullet had been just two feet to one side, my father's life would have been over, aged just 27, and I would never have been born.

Birdsong brings relief to my longing. I am just as ecstatic as they are, but with nothing to say.

There were moments when I understood that there was nothing much I was going to understand or figure out. There was simply the present moment, awareness, impermanence, birdsong, love. There is no fixing this setup here. It seems broken and ruined at times, but it isn't: it's simply the nature of human life.

You never get over certain losses, but the anguish part eventually ends, and it all just sucks for a while. There were moments when I understood that there was nothing much I was going to understand or figure out. There was simply the present moment, awareness, impermanence, birdsong, love. There is no fixing this setup here. It seems broken and ruined at times, but it isn't: it's simply the nature of human life.

Their song reminds me of a child's neighborhood rallying cry—ee-ock-ee—with a heartfelt warble at the end. But it is their call that is especially endearing. The towhee has the brass and grace to call, simply and clearly, tweet. I know of no other bird that stoops to literal tweeting.

People find birdsong relaxing and reassuring because over thousands of years, they have learnt when the birds sing, they are safe; it's when birds stop singing that people need to worry.

I'm reading Sebastian Faulks's 'Birdsong' at the moment. I read it when I was younger but decided to re-read it, as I remembered really liking it at the time.

Instead of being wakened to the sound of birdsong, like princesses in books, I was wakened to the sound of Rommel shrieking as Fat Louie beat him senseless for getting into his bowl of Fancy Feast.

But tomorrow, dawn will come the way I picture her, barefoot and disheveled, standing outside my window in one of the fragile cotton dresses of the poor. She will look in at me with her thin arms extended, offering a handful of birdsong and a small cup of light.

As far as 'Birdsong' is concerned, I think the television program made a very honorable attempt at it, but the truth of the matter is that adaptations of long, ambitious books very seldom transfer well to the screen, and why would they?

And now everything has changed once again. The air of the Close each evening is full of bird song - I've never really noticed it before. Full of birdsong and summer perfumes, full of strange glimpses and intimations just out of the corner of my eye, of longings and sadness and undefined hopes. It has a name, this sweet disturbance. Its name is Lamorna.

Birdsong is a sound which most people find reassuring. There is a reason for that. Over hundreds of thousands of years we've learned that when the birds are singing, things are safe. It's when they stop you need to be worried.