There was an old man with a beard, who said: 'It is just as I feared! Two owls and a hen, four larks and a wren have all built their nests in my beard.— Edward Lear
Stunning Wren quotations
Fool that I was, upon my eagle's wings I bore this wren, till I was tired with soaring, and now he mounts above me.
He who shall hurt the little wren Shall never be beloved by men.
And then the wren gan scippen and to daunce.
For the poor wren (The most diminutive of birds) will fight, Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.
The world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch.
Sometimes I fly like an eagle but with the wings of a wren
Die for adultery! No: The wren goes to't, and the small gilded fly does lecher in my sight
Happily ever after, or even just together ever after, is not cheesy,” Wren said. “It’s the noblest, like, the most courageous thing two people can shoot for.
The wren and the nightingale sound nothing alike, but think how dull the world would be without the songs of both birds.-Miss Kanagawa
Now the wren has gone to roost and the sky is turnin' gold Turnin' from the past, at last and all I've left behind.
The tiger lies low not from fear, but for aim. ~Wren
The wren-box problem is becoming more acute each year, for wrens now demand better housing conditions and labor-saving devices.
Shall eagles not be eagles? wrens be wrens? If all the world were falcons, what of that? The wonder of the eagle were the less, But he not less the eagle.
What is the extinction of a condor to a child who has never seen a wren?
The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark When neither is attended;
and I think The nightingale, if she should sing by day When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren. How many thing by season seasoned are To their right praise and true perfection!
You cannot fly like an eagle with wings of a wren.
There was an Old Man with a beard,Who said, 'It is just as I feared! -Two Owls and a Hen,Four Larks and a Wren,Have all built their nests in my beard!'
Raphael paints wisdom; Handel sings it, Phidias carves it, Shakespeare writes it, Wren builds it, Columbus sails it, Luther preaches it, Washington arms it, Watt mechanizes it.
You cannot fly like an eagle with the wings of a wren.
I had no portrait, now, but am small, like the wren;
and my hair is bold, like the chestnut bur; and my eyes, like the sherry in the glass, that the guest leaves.
Words mean what they're generally believed to mean.
When Charles II saw Christopher Wren's St. Paul's Cathedral for the first time, he called it "awful, pompous, and artificial." Meaning roughly: Awesome, majestic, and ingenious.
If I may bend your ear for a moment, I like Terry Pratchett.
I like footnotes. I like footnotes even when they are not as entertaining as a Pratchett footnote, even when they are in the middle of a book on evolutionary biology and briefly explain the Red Queen hypothesis or the fate of the Stephen's Island Wren or how many bunnies can dance on the back of Australia. Footnotes fill me with a very mild glee. The endnote simply does not compare.
The question before me, now that I am old, is not how to be dead, which I know from enough practice, but how to be alive, as these worn hills still tell, and some paintings of Paul Cezanne, and this mere singing wren, who thinks he's alive forever, this instant, and may be.
Glory, glory, said the Bee, Hallelujah, said the Flea.
Praise the Lord, remarked the Wren. At springtime all is born-again.
It was a spring without voices. On the mornings that had once throbbed with the dawn chorus of robins, catbirds, doves, jays, wrens, and scores of other bird voices there was now no sound; only silence lay over the fields and woods and marsh... Even the streams were now lifeless... No witchcraft, no enemy action had silenced the rebirth of new life in this stricken world. The people had done it themselves.
I honor the wisdom of life. I learn from life in all its forms. The tree teaches me. The sparrow and the wren sing my song. I am open to the lessons Life brings me from the earth. I learn from the wind, from the sun, from the small flowers, and from the stars. I walk without arrogance. I learn from all I encounter. I open my mind and heart to the guidance and love that come to me from the natural world.
The authour who imitates his predecessors only by furnishing himself with thoughts and elegances out of the same general magazine of literature, can with little more propriety be reproached as a plagiary, than the architect can be censured as a mean copier of Angelo or Wren, because he digs his marble out of the same quarry, squares his stones by the same art, and unites them in columns of the same orders.
The market economy needs no apologists and propagandists.
It can apply to itself the words of Sir Christopher Wren's epitaph in St. Paul's: 'If you seek his monument, look around.'
I love Wren and he knows it.” “Yeah, but he seems like he wouldn’t welcome it.” “Sometimes he doesn’t. But it’s like Cherise says, the hardest ones to love are always the ones who need it most.” (Aimee to Fang)
Sometimes Frank sighed, thinking he had caught a tropic bird, all flame and jewel color, when a wren would have served him just as well. In fact, much better.
No can do. Wren stays here. (Dev) Not what I was told. (Varyk) Well, I just told you. (Dev)
Not that I’ve ever feared a fight or backed down from one –(Wren) That’s the truth. I swear he’s half beta fish. He’d fight his own reflection to prove a point. (Maggie)
How many more are there like you? (Maggie) Enough to make the cast of a Cecil B.
DeMille film look like a two-man opera. (Wren)
So what happened? (Maggie) Nothing major. It’s just a group of assholes out to kill me. (Wren)