Who were these people? Where was all this joy, and where does joy go when it leaves your family? Does it go into someone else’s family, soak into the earth, or does it dissolve away like your breath in the winter? And if it doesn’t leave like this, then why isn’t there any left for...

Life is like the flappy bird game. There’s no pause nor another chance to live after dying and there could be endless obstacles. After all, it is just a matter of patience and perseverance to get a higher score.

Not every winged Creature is considered a bird or a bat. Some wings are made of magic.- Raani York – 2013 –

I knew I was a grain of sand in the vast desert that never ended and he was a sparkling star in the sky. I was a fish who couldn’t breathe in air and had to stay in dark waters forever while he was a majestic bird who soared so high that he barely touched...

There’s bird shit on my toilet paper, and my asshole stings from such a long flight.

I love the quietude of misty dawn before the sober sun is up… The morning songs of birds awakening in blooming garden sets my soul gently… Aroma flowers with glistering of the dew… Deep full chest breath… Shy sunbeams flickering over the tops of wisdom whispering choir of waving trees… Serenity of mind… The crystal...

Nothing living should ever be treated with contempt. Whatever it is that lives, a man, a tree, or a bird, should be touched gently, because the time is short. Civilization is another word for respect for life…

Our wings serve as flippers that carry us across the ocean; not in the sky!Why, us penguins have so much fun time in the water, we don’t even want to fly!

It’s a bird of some sort. It’s like a duck, only I never saw a duck have so many colors.”The bird swam swiftly and gracefully toward the Magic Isle, and as it drew nearer its gorgeously colored plumage astonished them. The feathers were of many hues of glistening greens and blues and purples, and it...

Not every hen lay eggs. Not every hen that lays eggs gets them hatched. Not everyone born with greatness becomes as such. Go, hatch your eggs.

I am lost in your eyes like a broken wings bird.

No bird has ever uttered note That was not in some first bird’s throat; Since Eden’s freshness and man’s fall No rose has been original.

A bird is safe in its nest – but that is not what its wings are made for.

I’d make a better lover than a dead bird. Probably.

For thought is a bird of space, that in a cage of words may indeed unfold its wings but cannot fly.

I feel unforgivable, but it was out of my control.” Never let them switch those round right or The Adversary will liberate them in a heartbeat, like a bird flying from a cage.

I would like to paint the way a bird sings.

Once more I realized to what an extent earthly happiness is made to the measure of man. It is not a rare bird which we must pursue at one moment in heaven, at the next in our minds. Happiness is a domestic bird found in our own courtyards.

I saw two lizards kissing yesterday, but I scared them off. Maybe I should have taken off my bird costume before peeping on them.

The Golden Eagle, which has universally been considered as a bird of most extraordinary powers of flight, is in my estimation little more than a sluggard, though its wings are long and ample.

You jumped like a frog.You touched like a dog.You kissed like a bird.

When the Sun of compassion arises darkness evaporates and the singing birds come from nowhere.

Never leave the egg in you not laid. Don’t leave the laid eggs there not hatched. You deserve the best; you were created to use every gift in you!

Quartering the topmost branches of one of the tall trees, an invisible bird was striving to make the day seem shorter, exploring with a long-drawn note the solitude that pressed it on every side, but it received at once so unanimous an answer, so powerful a repercussion of silence and of immobility, that one felt...

I think we consider too much the luck of the early bird and not enough the bad luck of the early worm.

Just because I flap my arms, that doesn’t make me a bird. No, I’m a bird because I believe myself to be. That’s the power of faith.

How did writing come to me? Like bird’s down on my windowpane, in winter. Just then there rose in the heart a struggle of firebrands, which has, still now, not ended.

All through dinner Arturo and I held hands under the table like a couple of kids, and that made the dinner quite wonderful, even though Mrs. Fletcher kept staring at Olivia as though committing her to memory. It got so bad that Olivia turned to her husband and said: “Has it happened at last, Gerald?...

…let us consider the holes in our own bodies and into what these congenital wounds open. Under the skin of man is a wondrous jungle where veins like lush tropical growths hang along over-ripe organs and weed-like entrails writhe in squirming tangles of red and yellow. In this jungle, flitting from rock-gray lungs to golden...

Two birds went for dating. The male bird was killed and the female bird is being murdered.

I love the freedom of my wings. I love the empty space above the ground. I rejoice in my freedom. Freedom is my religion. Peace is my God. Love is my worship.

You are Mr. Owl. I am Ms. Hummingbird. We may be came from different species but as long as you’re a bird, I’m a bird too.

Love should not cause suffocation and death if it is truly love. Don’t bundle someone into an uncomfortable cage just because you want to ensure their safety in your life. The bird knows where it belongs, and will never fly to a wrong nest.

Once upon a time an Athenian princesss named Prokne was wed to Tereus, king of the barbarous Thracians of the north. When Prokne’s unfortunate sister, Philomela, came for a visit, Tereus fell madly in love with the girl locked her away and raped her, then cut out her tongue to prevent her from telling anyone...

A lost bird appeared in the court and was half an hour jumping around between the spikenard. It sang a progressive note, rising an octave at a time, until it became so acute that it was necessary to imagine it.

Learning the secret of flight from a bird was a good deal like learning the secret of magic from a magician.

Make a change! It’s all about you! You may not be able to prevent the bird from flying over your head; but you can prevent it from making a nest on your head!

The early bird gets the worm. The early worm… gets eaten.

Tess was awake before dawn — at the marginal minute of the dark when the grove is still mute, save for one prophetic bird who sings with a clear-voiced conviction that he at least knows the correct time of day, the rest preserving silence as if equally convinced that he is mistaken.

All stones are close to us. The last is behind us. (Toutes les pierres sont près de nous. – La dernière est derrière nous.)(The Bird and its Sun / L’Oiseau et son Soleil)

I want to be a bird that is not afraid of falling since it’s been flying for so long.

The bird has an honor that man does not have. Man lives in the traps of his abdicated laws and traditions; but the birds live according to the natural law of God who causes the earth to turn around the sun.

Words, no matter whether they are vocalized and made into sounds or remain unspoken as thoughts, can cast an almost hypnotic spell upon you. You easily lose yourself in them, become hypnotized into implicitly believing that when you have attached a word to something, you know what it is. The fact is: You don’t know...

You’re a freaking pschopath,” I said, but he only chuckled.”I don’t expect you to understand, little bird,” He turned toward me fully, fingering his blade and smiling. “I expect you only to sing. Sing for me, sing for Kanin, and make it a glorious song

…winter crescent resting in the high pine bough – you fly through the woods like a lone snow bird…

The last 33 years of my life have been a blur, like a hummingbird’s beating wings. Time flies, but not backwards, like a hummingbird can.

Amanda took the torn page from Maniac. To her, it was the broken wing of a bird, a pet out in the rain.

Poetry is like a bird, it ignores all frontiers.

When we hear the bird sing, it hears only how to love. (Quand on entend l’oiseau chanter, – Lui n’entend que comment aimer.)

The sky itches and that’s why I tickled it with the feather of a bird. Do you realize it’s been 14 days since two weeks ago? Boy, time flies.