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Birds Quotes

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Birds Quotes

“Why, how, did my mother start making her birds? I don't know; I never asked. I suppose it was like growing up with a mother who goes to church on Sundays or gets her hair done every two weeks. Why? How? But the child whose mother goes to church on Sundays does not ask those questions, because to that child, it is a perfectly normal thing to do, to go sit on hard benches in a roomful of people discussing the specifics of a fairy tale (yes, I've shown my hand here, I suppose, but sooner or later you and I will have to have this discussion) and then having cookies and coffee afterward and chatting about the weather.”

MotherReligionChurchChildhoodMotherhoodBirdsMothers And DaughtersChildhood Memories
Book:Tilt
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“That night in our tent, Justin told me how, ten thousand years ago, human beings were migrant—we were like the birds. The average human would see only about a hundred people in her lifetime and would know each one profoundly, deeply bonded. Today, humans in cities will see a hundred beings in just minutes, naming them strangers, a dehumanizing designation. The next morning, I woke to wet rocks glittering in the slanted light, the day’s warmth shining in bars through the sparse canopy of maples. Happy here, I began to fear our next destination, hectic Manhattan—a surreal flip to witnessing ten thousand people a day. In these deep thickets, we walked a path that was streamlined, simple and clear.”

LifetimeIntimacyHikingBirdsStrangersBondingBackpackingTentMigrantDehumanizing
Author:Aspen Matis
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“We like to romanticize the wild, raw, majestic beauty of nature. But when you take a closer look, nature is really just a giant fuckfest. That beautiful bird chirping? It's a mating call. That pretty little bird is trying to get laid. And why does the peacock have such beautiful feathers? To attract females. Because he's trying to get laid.”

FunnyNatureBeautyWildernessAnimalsFunny QuotesNature QuotesWildlifeBirdsBeauty Of LifeNature Of ManFunny But TrueNature S BeautyBeauty In NatureMatingFuckFuckingBirdsongBeauty Of NatureMating RitualsPeacocksMating CallAnimals Mating
Book:Why Men And Women Can't Be Friends
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“That’s when he finds them. Birds. Mammals. Reptiles. That one was George—a Cheetah with the most flaming fur. That one was Gogy—a gorilla with the clearest pair of eyes. That one was Ms. Mimbo—a hybrid of Macao and African Grey Parrot. And the one near the stone was … well, the Monk goes through around three dozen names. It took fifty years of careful watch to make sure they don’t go extinct. If you live long enough, you might, as well, end up befriending every life your neighboring forest holds. And if you are a war hero, you might even get professionals from the Wildlife Conservation Board to help you during their crossbreeding process. But they’re all dead.”

BirdsMammalsReptilesThe Monk
Book:The High Auction
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“An Artemisian Coronation by Stewart Stafford A waxing moon with tidings, Cataract vision in sheer mist, Through curtains of fine rain, The foresight of the lunar eye. Cockcrow stabs the dawn, Drowned green fields rouse, Boars trample in the fens, Sheep as anchored clouds. A magpie and raven duelling, Branch to branch to the death, Proudly staking their claims, To the wren's avian coronation. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

NatureMoonBirdAnimalsMoonlightBirdsMoon MagicLunarMoon PoemsMoon Poetry
Author:Stewart Stafford
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“In 1972, Bayber's work underwent another metamorphosis, yet refused to be defined by or adhere to any specific style. Elements of abstract expressionism, modernism, surrealism, and neo-expressionism combine with figurative art to create works which remain wholly original and highly complex, both delighting and terrifying at a subconscious level. There is nothing fragile here, nothing dreamlike. No protections are offered, not for the artist himself and not for those viewing his work. All is called forth in a raw state, human values finessed on the canvas, softened and sharpened, separated and made aggregate. While there are certain motifs in these works- often a suggestion of water, the figure of a bird- and various elements are repeated, aside from an introverted complexity, the context in which they appear is never the same from one piece to the next. What ties these works together is the suggestion of loss, of disappearance, and of longing ( see figs. 87-95)" The figure of a bird. He had forgotten his own writing. Finch took the book back to his desk and pulled a magnifying glass from the top drawer to study the color plates. Thomas had completed six paintings in 1972, four of them after July. In each of those four, Finch managed to find what he had seen long ago, the figure of a bird. Was it Alice, flown away from him?”

LossBirdsArtworkThomas BayberHidden ImageDennis Finch
Book:The Gravity of Birds
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“We need to live not just for ourselves, but for the whole humanity, for the trees, birds and all the living beings. Plastic pollution free living is the easiest way to make that successful.”

PollutionTreesBirdsEnvironmental ProtectionPlastic BagsPlastic Pollution Free WorldPlastic Free LivingPlastic PollutionPollution Free WorldLiving Habit
Book:Peace Bliss Beauty and Truth: Living with Positivity
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“Good morning! The sun is up! Wake up! Time to eat," said the birds. "Good morning," Ashlynn said back. There was a clink of glass slippers against the wood floor, and then her mother appeared in the doorway. She had the same strawberry-blond hair and green eyes as Ashlynn. Her mother was already dressed, but Ashlynn didn't notice the clothes she was wearing. As always, her eyes went right to the glass slippers. Oh, how she loved those shoes. "Chores, dear!" her mother said, leaning over to kiss the top of Ashlynn's head. "And then you should pack." "Yes, Mother!" Ashlynn washed her face, put on an apron, and then opened wide the door to her shoe closet. This princess wouldn't care if she wore a burlap sack every day, so long as she had dozens of footwear choices. Today she settled on a pair of scrappy teal wedges and went to start breakfast. Even though her father's grand house came fully stocked with servants, her mother believed in good, solid, character-forming chores. After all, Ashlynn would inherit her mother's story and become the next Cinderella someday, and there would be lots of floors to mop and hearths to sweep before her Happily Ever After.”

PrincessBirdsFairytaleHappily Ever AfterMother And DaughterCinderellaInheritGlass SlipperAshlynn Ella
Book:Once Upon a Time: A Story Collection
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“My love, you are driving the entire world mad. The nightingales are committing suicide one by one out of jealousy of your voice. The roses took one glance at your beauty and folded themselves from shame. The trees now only whisper your name and the sky hasn’t stopped crying since you looked up. Have pity on us, my love. We have already broken all the mirrors and glass out of fear that you will forget us and fall in love with yourself once you see what we all cannot stop seeing.”

WorldLoveUniverseFearVoiceNatureForgetLove QuotesBeautySeeingSkyCryMadnessMirrorsShameSuicideMadEnvyDrivingPityJealousyBelovedEcstasyJealousLove YourselfLoverCryingTreesBirdsKamandKojouriKamand KojouriIn LoveLove PoemsEnviousSeeRosesNameNightingalesGlassMy LoveFold
Author:Kamand Kojouri
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“Smart cities do not mean creating jungles of concretes or sophisticated cities of glasses with HiFi technologies. But a smart city means a city, where humans, trees, birds and other animals can grow with all their glories, imperfections, freedom and creativity.”

NatureFreedomCreativityClimate ChangeGlobal WarmingTreesNature QuotesBirdsCleanlinessSmart City
Book:Nuclear Weapons Free World - Peace on the Earth
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“The two deer ran for the sheer joy of running, flashes of sunlight gleaming on their flanks and their white tails, the otherwise invisible and dark shapes moving at unbelievable speed through the forest. Smaller animals dashed and dipped out of their way. A still-sleepy bear, the only creature in the forest close to them in size, watched them go and wondered at the calories they were expending for no reason. Small foraging flocks of birds exploded up out of trees as they passed, chickadees and nuthatches and titmice exclaiming in irritation and amusement.”

BirdsDeerLiz BraswellRunning Through The WoodsBambiFaline
Book:A Twisted Tale Anthology
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“As women, we are always taught never to let a man know of our affections towards him, lest he laugh, run away, or think that we are psycho. But what if that's not true? Have you ever stopped to think that? What if it's like there's a beautiful little bird in our hearts and we're too afraid to let anyone see it in there? What's wrong with letting anyone know that there's a bird in your chest? Maybe there are lots of wrong ones, but maybe there's one that's just for you— the one who won't laugh or run away when he sees that little bird. After all, it’s just a pretty bird!”

MenLoveInspirational QuotesMen And WomenBirdsWomens InspirationalAffectionsLittle BirdsInspirational Writing For Women
Author:C. JoyBell C.
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“My art teacher says I have talent," Twiss told her father, thinking of her last piece. Although she usually preferred to draw things like bloody axes and pus balls, for the last project of the quarter her teacher had asked them to draw a picture of what happiness felt like. Twiss drew a flock of all different kinds of birds- red, blue, gray, green- taking flight from the top branches of an old-growth pine tree. When her teacher asked her to explain the drawing, Twiss said to her happiness felt like freedom. Sadness felt like the opposite.”

ArtHappinessBirdsTwiss
Book:The Bird Sisters
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“Its wings flicker white, and in the brief soar between roof and pump, the sun catches in its feathers, revealing rainbows floating atop the black and blue fibers. The colors roll down its body like the muscle in a great predator’s shoulders, and yet the lift of its wings and kite-like flicker of its long tail are lighter than air.”

BirdsCharacter DescriptionMagpie
Book:Blackpines: The Magpie Witch: The North Star in Eclipse
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“Lottie had devised three or four different walks, each lasting approximately an hour. This morning she chose the one that began along Hill Road, crossed through a medieval oak and hazel forest, and passed the source of a local spring called the Wishing Well. It was a cool, damp morning typical of the beginning of May, and Lottie drew in deep breaths of the earth-scented air. Dressed in a gown with loose ankle-lemgth skirts, her feet shod in sturdy mid-calf boots, Lottie trod energetically away from Westcliff Manor. She followed a sandy track that led into the forest, while natterjack toads hopped out of the path of her oncoming boots. The trees rustled overhead, the wind carrying the cries of nuthatches and whitethroats. A huge, ungainly buzzard flapped its way toward the nearby bogs in search of breakfast.”

TreesBirdsNatures BeautyNature WalkCharlotte HowardStony Cross Park
Book:Worth Any Price
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“Birds of the Western Front Your mess-tin cover's lost. Kestrels hover above the shelling. They don't turn a feather when hunting-ground explodes in yellow earth, flickering star-shells and flares from the Revelation of St John. You look away from artillery lobbing roar and suck and snap against one corner of a thicket to the partridge of the war zone making its nest in shattered clods. History floods into subsoil to be blown apart. You cling to the hard dry stars of observation. How you survive. They were all at it: Orchids of the Crimea nature notes from the trench leaving everything unsaid - hell's cauldron with souls pushed in, demons stoking flames beneath - for the pink-flecked wings of a chaffinch flashed like mediaeval glass. You replace gangrene and gas mask with a dream of alchemy: language of the birds translating human earth to abstract and divine. While machine-gun tracery gutted that stricken wood you watched the chaffinch flutter to and fro through splintered branches, breaking buds and never a green bough left. Hundreds lay in there wounded. If any, you say, spotted one bird they may have wondered why a thing with wings would stay in such a place. She must have, sure, had chicks she was too terrified to feed, too loyal to desert. Like roots clutching at air you stick to the lark singing fit to burst at dawn sounding insincere above the burning bush: plough-land latticed like folds of brain with shell-ravines where nothing stirs but black rats, jittery sentries and the lice sliding across your faces every night. Where every elixir's gone wrong you hold to what you know. A little nature study. A solitary magpie blue and white spearing a strand of willow. One for sorrow. One for Babylon, Ninevah and Northern France, for mice and desolation, the burgeoning barn-owl population and never a green bough left.”

WarBirdsWestern Front
Author:Ruth Padel
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