Top Birds Singing Quotes

Browse top 33 famous quotes and sayings about Birds Singing by most favorite authors.

Favorite Birds Singing Quotes

1. "What do you like doing best in the world, Pooh?""Well," said Pooh, "what I like best-" and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn't know what it was called. And then he thought that being with Christopher Robin was a very good thing to do, and having Piglet near was a very friendly thing to have; and so, when he had thought it all out, he said, "What I like best in the whole world is Me and Piglet going to see You, and You saying 'What about a little something?' and Me saying, 'Well, I shouldn't mind a little something, should you, Piglet,' and it being a hummy sort of day outside, and birds singing.""I like that too," said Christopher Robin, "but what I like doing best is Nothing."
Author: A.A. Milne
2. "A world without adjectives would still have the sun rising and setting, the flowers blooming, the trees bearing fruits, the birds singing, and the bees stinging."
Author: A.A. Patawaran
3. "When sad she brings the thunderAnd her tears, they bring the rainWhen ill she feeds a poisonTo us all to fell her painHer smiles they bring the sunshineAnd the laughter and the windAnd the birds they go on singingAnd the world is whole again. "Smile, sweet Sunday," Wednesday whispered in her ear. "The birds need your love so they can lift their wings."
Author: Alethea Kontis
4. "He strips me to my last nakedness, that underskin of mauve, pearlized satin, like a skinned rabbit; then dresses me again in an embrace so lucid and encompassing it might be made of water. And shakes over me dead leaves as if into the stream I have become.Sometimes the birds, at random, all singing, strike a chord. His skin covers me entirely; we are like two halves of a seed, enclosed in the same integument. I should like to grow enormously small, so that you could swallow me, like those queens in fairy tales who conceive when they swallow a grain of corn or a sesame seed. Then I could lodge inside your body and you would bear me."
Author: Angela Carter
5. "I hear the birds singing. Listen. I hear them in their cage. The others-all our kind who know of her-they think of her as heartless, but she wasn't heartless. She was only aware of things which I didn't learn till so many decades had passed. She knew secrets that only suffering can teach..."
Author: Anne Rice
6. "I can hear birds singing but they don't sound at all like the birds I knew. These are mocking and possessed. I imagine they have deformed bodies with glowing eyes, leading the wagon to my own personal damnation. All my wishes and all my draining prayers haven't brought me home. They are bringing me to the one place I sought to be and the one place I wanted to far from."
Author: Celia Mcmahon
7. "I miss the snow. I miss looking at it, walking in it, tasting it. I used to love those days when it was so cold everyone else would be tucked away inside trying to stay warm. I would be the only one out walking, so I could look across the fields and see miles of snow without a single footprint in it. It would be completely silent -- no cars, no birds singing, no doors slamming. Just silence and snow. God, I miss snow. The stars, the moon, the wind, and blankets of pure, pristine snow."
Author: Damien Echols
8. "Sweet spring is yourtime is my time is ourtime for springtime is lovetimeand viva sweet love(all the merry little birds areflying in the floating in thevery spirits singing inare winging in the blossoming)lovers go and lovers comeawandering awonderingbut any two are perfectlyalone there's nobody else alive(such a sky and such a suni never knew and neither did youand everybody never breathedquite so many kinds of yes)not a tree can count his leaveseach herself by openingbut shining who by thousands meanonly one amazing thing(secretly adoring shylytiny winging darting floatingmerry in the blossomingalways joyful selves are singing)sweet spring is yourtime is my time is ourtime for springtime is lovetimeand viva sweet love"
Author: E.E. Cummings
9. "Water, wind and birdsong were the echoes in this quiet place of a great chiming symphony that was surging around the world. Knee-deep in grasses and moon daisies, Stella stood and listened, swaying a little as the flowers and trees were swaying, her spirit voice singing loudly, though her lips were still, and every pulse in her body beating its hammer strokes in time to the song."
Author: Elizabeth Goudge
10. "April 19And now it is spring. Birds are singing. Wistful notes and jubilant. And bare streets and no need for coats, and skipping ropes and bicycles and a thin new moon."
Author: Elizabeth Smart
11. "Candleford Green was but a small village and there were fields and meadows and woods all around it. As soon as Laura crossed the doorstep, she could see some of these. But mere seeing from a distance did not satisfy her; she longed to go alone far into the fields and hear the birds singing, the brooks tinkling, and the wind rustling through the corn, as she had when a child. To smell things and touch things, warm earth and flowers and grasses, and to stand and gaze where no one could see her, drinking it all in."
Author: Flora Thompson
12. "They are prepared for a God who strikes hard bargains but not for a God who gives as much for an hour's work as for a day's. They are prepared for a mustard-seed kingdom of God no bigger than the eye of a newt but not for the great banyan it becomes with birds in its branches singing Mozart. They are prepared for the potluck supper at First Presbyterian but not for the marriage supper of the lamb..."
Author: Frederick Buechner
13. "Night was falling. Birds were singing. Birds were, it occurred to me to say, enacting a frantic celebration of day's end. They were manifesting as the earth's bright-colored nerve endings, the sun's descent urging them into activity, filling them individually with life nectar, the life nectar then being passed into the world, out of each beak, in the form of that bird's distinctive song, which was, in turn, an accident of beak shape, throat shape, breast configuration, brain chemistry: some birds blessed in voice, others cursed; some squeaking, others rapturous."
Author: George Saunders
14. "Jacob wrote that the true poet ‘is like a man who is happy anywhere, in endless measure, if he is allowed to look at leaves and grass, to see the sun rise and set. The false poet travels abroad in strange countries and hopes to be uplifted by the mountains of Switzerland, the sky and sea of Italy. He comes to them and is dissatisfied. He is not as happy as the man who stays at home and sees the apple trees flower in spring, and hears the small birds singing among the branches"
Author: Jacob Grimm
15. "If I could cut out my beating heart and put it in a box and forget about it, I would. Maybe I would pad the box with our photos of you, our love letters, a lock of your hair and that heart-shaped perfume bottle, the one that I gave you for your birthday. You always said it was your favorite. Maybe if I put the box up in the attic,some place out of sight and sound,I could forget you. (sigh)I force myself to look around my yard. The sun is brilliant against the bright blue sky,birds are singing out their borders and gathering twigs and grasses for nesting, and the late-season daffodils are bursting an egg-yolk yellow. I feel myself smile. For the first time this season,I spot a Peace rose, a sunshine-swelled bloom of yellow and pink flame. I inhale the bloom's faintly sweet fragrance,which floats delicate memories of youacross my mind's eye — I am happy. Without thinking, I turn to the houseto call you.If only It was that easy."
Author: Jeffrey A. White
16. "It is not only me devoted to your kindness and beauty; walk in the gardens, you will find birds singing your name."
Author: M.F. Moonzajer
17. "Once, Picasso was asked what his paintings meant. He said, "Do you ever know what the birds are singing? You don't. But you listen to them anyway." So, sometimes with art, it is important just to look."
Author: Marina Abramović
18. "And I go out of Father's house and I walk down the street, and it is very quiet even thought it is the middle of the day and I can't hear any noise except birds singing and wind and sometimes buildings falling down in the distance, and if I stand very close to traffic lights I can hear a little click as the colors change."
Author: Mark Haddon
19. "To one who loves birds, morning always wakes up singing."
Author: Marty Rubin
20. "How I go to the woodsOrdinarily, I go to the woods alone, with not a singlefriend, for they are all smilers and talkers and therefore unsuitable.I don't really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds or hugging the old black oak tree. I have my way of praying, as you no doubt have yours. Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible. I can siton the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds, until the foxes run by unconcerned. I can hear the almostunhearable sound of the roses singing.If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must loveyou very much."
Author: Mary Oliver
21. "It is winter time, my friend; buy couple of breads; find a place calm and quiet and feed the birds; and for this action of yours, ask no more reward than their cheerful singings!"
Author: Mehmet Murat Ildan
22. "When he commissioned me to transcribe the Life of St. Peter of Corishia, who after five days of fasting saw unaging light, it was dusk and the birds streaked down into their nests in the bushes like black lightning. My thoughts soared up at the same speed, and I felt the strength was not in me to combat my burgeoning sense of power. I sat down to transcribe the Life of St. Peter of Corishia, and when I reached the part about the days of the fast, instead of 5 I wrote 50 and gave the transcription to the young monk. He took it, singing, and read it that same evening; the next day, word spread through the gorge that the monk Longin had embarked upon a major fast...On the fifty-first day, when they buried Longin at the Annunciation in the foothills, I decided never to takepen in hand again. I looked with horror at the inkwell and thought: Too many bones in too tight a soul."
Author: Milorad Pavić
23. "The birds that were singing in the dew-drenched garden seemed to be telling the flowers about her."
Author: Oscar Wilde
24. "Gaea?" Leo shook his head. "Isn't that Mother Nature? She's supposed to have, like, flowers in her hair and birds singing around her and dear and rabbits doing her laundry.""Leo, that's Snow White," Piper said."
Author: Rick Riordan
25. "I like to express certain things that happen in my life, the joy of spring, the birds singing and young babies coming into the world. You know, the whole thing as well as the part I'm not happy with, the sad part."
Author: Roy Haynes
26. "No more words. In the name of this place we drink in with our breathing, stay quiet like a flower.So the nightbirds will start singing."
Author: Rumi
27. "On the day of the dead, when the year too dies,Must the youngest open the oldest hillsThrough the door of the birds, where the breeze breaks.There fire shall fly from the raven boy,And the silver eyes that see the wind,And the light shall have the harp of gold.By the pleasant lake the Sleepers lie,On Cadfan's Way where the kestrels call;Though grim from the Grey King shadows fall,Yet singing the golden harp shall guideTo break their sleep and bid them ride.When light from the lost land shall return,Six Sleepers shall ride, six Signs shall burn,And where the midsummer tree grows tallBy Pendragon's sword the Dark shall fall.Y maent yr mynyddoedd yn canu,ac y mae'r arglwyddes yn dod."
Author: Susan Cooper
28. "Birds are settling down for the night, singing lullabies to their young."
Author: Suzanne Collins
29. "What is more cheerful, now, in the fall of the year, than an open-wood-fire? Do you hear those little chirps and twitters coming out of that piece of apple-wood? Those are the ghosts of the robins and blue-birds that sang upon the bough when it was in blossom last Spring. In Summer whole flocks of them come fluttering about the fruit-trees under the window: so I have singing birds all the year round."
Author: Thomas Bailey Aldrich
30. "Summer came whirling out of the night and stuck fast. One morning late in November everybody got up at Cloudstreet and saw the white heat washing in through the windows. The wild oats and buffalo grass were brown and crisp. The sky was the color of kerosene. The air was thin and volatile. Smoke rolled along the tracks as men began to burn off on the embankment. Birds cut singing down to a few necessary phrases, and beneath them in the streets, the tar began to bubble. The city was full of Yank soldiers; the trams were crammed to standing with them. The river sucked up the sky and went flat and glittery right down the middle of the place and people went to it in boats and britches and barebacked. Where the river met the sea, the beaches ran north and south, white and broad as highways in a dream, and men and babies stood in the surf while gulls hung in the haze above, casting shadows on the immodest backs of the oilslicked women."
Author: Tim Winton
31. "I went to the springs while the sun was still up, and sitting on a rocky outcrop above the cave mouth I watched the light grow reddish across the misty pools, and listened to the troubled voice of the water. After a while I moved farther up the hill, where I could hear birds singing near and far in the silence of the trees. The presence of the trees was very strong...The big oaks stood so many, so massive in their other life, in their deep, rooted silence: the awe of them came on me, the religion."
Author: Ursula K. Le Guin
32. "The sunshine was delightful, the foliage gently astir, more from the activity of birds than from the breeze. One gallant little bird, doubtless lovelorn, was singing his heart out at the top of a tall tree."
Author: Victor Hugo
33. "Outside the trees dragged their leaves like nets through the depths of the air; the sound of water was in the room and through the waves came the voices of birds singing."
Author: Virginia Woolf

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Hitting a ball dead perfect - the only peace."
Author: Andre Agassi

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