Unclose your mind. You are not a prisoner. You are a bird in flight, searching the skies for dreams.— Haruki Murakami
Colossal Birds In Flight quotations
God gives every bird a worm, but does not throw it into the nest.
Be like the bird who, pausing in her flight awhile on boughs too slight, feels them give way beneath her, and yet sings, knowing she hath wings.
Birds fly over the rainbow. Why then, oh, why can't I?
Like a bird singing in the rain, the grateful memories survive in time of sorrow.
If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow, why oh why can't I?
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.
Caged birds accept each other, but flight is what they long for.
Little by little, the bird makes its nest.
Birds born in a cage think flying is an illness.
There is a place where the sidewalk ends, And before the street begins, And there the grass grows soft and white, And there the sun burns crimson bright, And there the moon-bird rests from his flight To cool in the peppermint wind.
When you awaken in the morning's hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there, I did not die.
A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.
Write as you like, use the rhythms that come out, try different instruments, sit at the piano, destroy the metric, shout instead of singing, blow your guitar and ring the horn. Hate mathematics, and love eddies. Creation is a bird without a flight plan, that will never fly in a straight line.
As we take, in fact, a general view of the wonderful stream of our consciousness, what strikes us first is this different pace of its parts. Like a bird 's life, it seems to be made of an alternation of flights and perchings.
Be like the bird who, halting in his flight on a limb too slight, yet sings, knowing he has wings.
I would like to paint the way a bird signs.
The reason birds can fly and we can't is simply that they have perfect faith, for to have faith is to have wings.
People live like birds in the woods: When the time comes, each must take flight.
I can see today that the same sort of issues lie behind taxidermy and photography. Taxidermy consists in preserving a bird in full flight... In the same way, photography halts and freezes motion and life.
Use what talent you possess; the wood would be very silent if no bird sang except those that sang best.
The power that makes grass grow, fruit ripen, and guides the bird in flight is in us all.
Birds rising in flight is a sign that the enemy is lying in ambush;
when the wild animals are startled and flee he is trying to take you unaware.
All is going on as it was wont. The waves are hoarse with repetition of their mystery; the dust lies piled upon the shore; the sea-birds soar and hover; the winds and clouds go forth upon their trackless flight; the white arms beckon, in the moonlight, to the invisible country far away.
A child without education, is like a bird without wings.
Yes, I will spend the livelong day With Nature in this month of May;
And sit beneath the trees, and share My bread with birds whose homes are there; While cows lie down to eat, and sheep Stand to their necks in grass so deep; While birds do sing with all their might, As though they felt the earth in flight.
Surely no child, and few adults, have ever watched a bird in flight without envy.
I am lost without you. I am soulless, a drifter without a home, a solitary bird in a flight to nowhere. I am all these things, and I am nothing at all. This, my darling, is my life without you. I long for you to show me how to live again.
I always wonder why birds stay in the same place when they can fly anywhere on the earth. Then I ask myself the same question.
May you find in the nectar of life, the sweetness of hope in your heart, feel the comfort of song birds in your soul, the grace of new wind in your wings. Color you sprirt with rainbows and shower gold dust in your hair. Time heals. Life renews. Dreams take flight agian. close you eyes and drink it all in.
Man is the most powerful creature on the planet.
And we're arrogant. I mean, people own birds. It's like, there's a creature with the gift of flight. I want it. I'm going to put it in my kitchen and make it crap on old information.
Whoever is related to me in the height of his aspirations will experience veritable ecstasies of learning; for I come from heights that no bird ever reached in its flight, I know abysses into which no foot ever strayed.
Intelligence without ambition is a bird without wings.
Call me names, dearest! Call me thy bird That flies to thy breast at one cherishing word, That folds its wild wings there, ne'er dreaming of flight, That tenderly sings there in loving delight! Oh! my sad heart keeps pining for one fond word,-- Call me pet names, dearest! Call me thy bird!
"My burden is light," said the blessed Redeemer, a light burden indeed, which carries him that bears it. I have looked through all nature for a resemblance of this, and seem to find a shadow of it in the wings of a bird, which are indeed borne by the creature, and yet support her flight towards heaven.
You could not see a cloud, because No cloud was in the sky: No birds were flying overhead - There were no birds to fly.
Birds born in a cage think flying is an illness.
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.
World's flying like birds; my car's in flight. The city lights are spattered on my windshield like the fragments of the night. And I'm in flight. The sky's a wheel, a merry-go-round of wings and snow and steel, and fire. We'll tread the sky, we'll ride the scarlet horses.
The birds of hope are everywhere, listen to them sing.
In a world of such beauty as birds in flight, surely I can come to feel at home again, even after my loss.
The only creative power I know is that of what might roughly be called 'love';
not of course a sentimental love: a far more impersonal and less individual emotion. I sometimes think that migratory birds may have it for each other. They fly in the same direction, and have never been seen to interfere with each other's flights.
Now that I know that each star has its path, each bird is finally feathered and grown in the unbroken shell, each tree in the seed, each song in the life laid down - is the night sky any less strange; should my glance less follow the flight; should the pen shake less in my hand.
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 bird let loose in Eastern skies,Returning fondly home,Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor fliesWhere idle warblers roam;But high she shoots through air and light,Above all low delay,Where nothing earthly bounds her flight,Nor shadow dims her way.