I once asked a bird, how is it that you fly in this gravity of darkness? She responded, 'love lifts me.'— Hafez
Seductive Love Bird quotations
I hope you love birds too. It is economical. It saves going to heaven.
The wind? I am the wind. The sea and the moon? I am the sea and the moon. Tears, pain, love, bird-flights? I am all of them. I dance what I am. Sin, prayer, flight, the light that never was on land or sea? I dance what I am.
Once in the dream of a night I stood Lone in the light of a magical wood, Soul-deep in visions that poppy-like sprang; And spirits of Truth were the birds that sang, And spirits of Love were the stars that glowed, And spirits of Peace were the streams that flowed In that magical wood in the land of sleep.
The heart, in its journey to Allah, Majestic is He, is like that of a bird;
Love is its head, and fear and hope are its two wings. When the head and two wings are sound, the bird flies gracefully; if the head is severed, the bird dies; if the bird loses one of its wings, it then becomes a target for every hunter or predator.
God loved the birds and invented trees. Man loved the birds and invented cages.
Spending your time with true spiritual friends will fill you with love for all beings and help you to see how negative attachment and hatred are. Being with such friends, and following their example, will naturally imbue you with their good qualities, just as all the birds flying around a golden mountain are bathed in its golden radiance.
I send out thoughts of love and peace and healing to the whole universe: to all trees and plants and growing things, to all beasts and birds and fishes, and to every man, woman and child on earth, without any distinction.
I like PBS. I love Big Bird ... But I'm not going to keep on spending money on things to borrow money from China to pay for it.
As a body in a world, here is our choice: we can be more loving or less loving.
That's it. We can relax as the entire moment's show of love's swirl, feeling open as all--a vicious rainstorm, tweeting birds, our lover's lips, a sense of worthlessness-- or we can close to some aspect of experience, pulling away as if we were separate.
If I wanted to play the violin, I had to work.
Because anything that one wants to do really, and one loves doing, one must do everyday. It should be as easy to the artist and as natural as flying is to a bird. And you can’t imagine a bird saying well, I’m tired today, I’m not going to fly!
My father always taught by telling stories about his experiences.
His lessons were about morality and art and what insects and birds and human beings had in common. He told me what it meant to be a man and to be a Black man. He taught me about love and responsibility, about beauty, and how to make gumbo.
I love puffins. They are small, round gothic birds, and their babies are called pufflings.
Birds do it, bees do it, even educated fleas do it; let's do it, let's fall in love.
If a seperate personal Paradise exists for each of us mine must irreparably be planted with trees of words which the wind silvers like poplars, by people who see their confiscated justice given back, and by birds that even in the midst of the truth of death insist on singing in Greek and saying, eros, eros, eros.
Don't cry, you crybaby! When you think things are hard, that's the time you are maturing as a person. If you get over the darkness, a wonderful new day will come. The bright morning will be filled with light and the birds will be singing . There'll be white roses with a lovely fragrance.
The spirit of man is nomad, his blood bedouin, and love is the aboriginal tracker on the faded desert spoor of his lost self; and so I came to live my life not by conscious plan or prearranged design but as someone following the flight of a bird.
A strange passion is moving in my head My heart has become a bird which searches in the sky. Every part of me goes in different directions. Is it really so that the one I love is Everywhere?
The more often we see the things around us - even the beautiful and wonderful things - the more they become invisible to us. That is why we often take for granted the beauty of this world: the flowers, the trees, the birds, the clouds - even those we love. Because we see things so often, we see them less and less.
As for me, I used to be a bird with a gentle white womb, someone cut my throat just for laughs, I don’t know. As for me, I used to be a great albatross and whirled over the seas. Someone put an end to my journey, without any charity in the tone of it. But even stretched out on the ground I sing for you now my songs of love.
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.
Early summer days are a jubilee time for birds.
In the fields, around the house, in the barn, in the woods, in the swamp - everywhere love and songs and nests and eggs.
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.
It's hard to play with a bagpipe player.
It's like an exotic bird. I love the sound, it's like strangling a goose.
Everybody loves birdsong. It's a human need... the sound of birds gives a deep, if sometimes almost unnoticed, pleasure
Every bird that sings, sings for you.
Every breeze that blows, blows for you. Every sunray shines for you. If you only knew how loved you are.
The Love bird is one hundred percent faithful to his mate-who is locked into the same cage.
Like birds landing on a tree top together, and then dispersing, we are together for a very short time, so it makes sense to live in harmony, in unconditional friendship.
So say it loud and let it ring We are all a part of everything The future, present and the past Fly on proud bird You're free at last
I am slowly, painfully discovering that my refuge is not found in my mother, my grandmother, of even the birds of Bear River. My refuge exists in my capacity to love. If I can learn to love death then I can begin to find refuge in change.
Each bird loves to hear himself sing.
Love is sacred. Beauty is sacred. Flowers are sacred. Birds are sacred. And sacredness brings the perfume of love and compassion. Therefore love and compassion is the perfume of sacredness. It sounds rather poetic, but...God IS poetry.
I love everything that makes up a milieu, the rolling of the carriages and the noise of the workmen in Paris, the cries of a thousand birds in the country, the movement of the ships on the waters. I love also absolute, profound silence, and, in short, I love everything that is around me, no matter where I am.
Oh it's the bingo playing wizard I love you guys so much, but not as much as my bird and my bingo!
The compelled mother loves her child as the caged bird sings.
The song does not justify the cage nor the love the enforcement.