Birds In Flight Quotes

A thousand hills, but no birds in flight, Ten thousand paths, with no person's tracks. A lonely boat, a straw-hatted old man, Fishing alone in the cold river snow.

For every runner who tours the world running marathons, there are thousands who run to hear leaves and listen to rain and look to the day when it all is suddenly as easy as a bird in flight.

Birds in flight fascinate me. I admire eagles and falcons. I’m inspired by a feather but also its color, its graphics, its weightlessness and its engineering. It’s so elaborate. In fact I try and transpose the beauty of a bird to women.

Fire up your heart for the wind is getting cold, now it always gets cold for the riders of the night. When you carry that dream when you know what lonesome is looking for a home like a bird in flight.

In a world of such beauty as birds in flight, surely I can come to feel at home again, even after my loss.

Now and then the fantastic shadows of birds in flight flitted across the long tussore-silk curtains that were stretched in front of the huge window, producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect, and making him think of those pallid, jade-faced painters of Tokyo who, through the medium of an art that is necessarily immobile, seek to convey the sense of swiftness and motion.

The power that makes grass grow, fruit ripen, and guides the bird in flight is in us all.

A song is like a picture of a bird in flight; the bird was moving before the picture was taken, and no doubt continued after.

Who has the right to decide that the supreme value is a world without insects even though it would be a sterile world ungraced by the curving wing of a bird in flight. The decision is that of the authoritarian temporarily entrusted with power.

Caged birds accept each other, but flight is what they long for.

Unclose your mind. You are not a prisoner. You are a bird in flight, searching the skies for dreams.

Birds fly over the rainbow. Why then, oh, why can't I?

Birds born in a cage think flying is an illness.

If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow, why oh why can't I?

The very idea of a bird is a symbol and a suggestion to the poet. A bird seems to be at the top of the scale, so vehement and intense his life. . . . The beautiful vagabonds, endowed with every grace, masters of all climes, and knowing no bounds - how many human aspirations are realised in their free, holiday-lives - and how many suggestions to the poet in their flight and song!

The bluebird carries the sky on his back.

No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings.

The reason birds can fly and we can't is simply that they have perfect faith, for to have faith is to have wings.

Surely no child, and few adults, have ever watched a bird in flight without envy.