The Quote Garden ™
“I dig old books.” ™
Quotations about Birds
Welcome to my collection of quotes about birds. See also: Hummingbirds, Peacocks. Enjoy! —ღ Terri
And from Humming-Bird to Eagle, the daily existence of every bird is a remote and bewitching mystery. ~Thomas Wentworth Higginson, "The Life of Birds," Out-door Papers, 1868
I value my garden more for being full of blackbirds than of cherries, and very frankly give them fruit for their songs. ~Joseph Addison, The Spectator, 1712
I once had a sparrow alight upon my shoulder for a moment, while I was hoeing in a village garden, and I felt that I was more distinguished by that circumstance that I should have been by any epaulet I could have worn. ~Henry David Thoreau
Those little nimble musicians of the air, that warble forth their curious ditties, with which nature hath furnished them to the shame of art. ~Izaak Walton
Some birds are poets and sing all summer. ~Henry David Thoreau, journal, 1852 July 5th
The moment a little boy is concerned with which is a jay and which is a sparrow, he can no longer see the birds or hear them sing. ~Eric Berne
God gives every bird its food, but He does not throw it into its nest. ~J.G. Holland
One must ask children and birds how cherries and strawberries taste. ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Happy who for a season may
Absent themselves on buoyant wing!
The birds that Winter drives away
Will surely come again with Spring.
They of our ills will mindful be,
And when at length the storm has passed,
They will return to this same tree
Which has so often felt the blast.
Then to our fertile vale will they
A more auspicious presage bring!
The birds that Winter drives away
Will surely come again with Spring.
~Pierre-Jean de Béranger (1780–1857), "The Birds," translated from the French by Percy Reeve, in Love & Music, 1883
Seagulls... slim yachts of the element. ~Robinson Jeffers
Half the modern drugs could well be thrown out the window, except that the birds might eat them. ~Martin H. Fischer (1879–1962)
God loved the birds and invented trees. Man loved the birds and invented cages. ~Jacques Deval, Afin de vivre bel et bien
Use what talent you possess: the woods would be very silent if no birds sang except those that sang best. ~Author unknown, quoted in The Ladies Repository: A Monthly Periodical, Devoted to Literature, Arts, and Religion, September 1874, commonly misattributed to Henry Van Dyke and Henry David Thoreau
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
~Alfred, Lord Tennyson, "The Eagle"
There is nothing in which the birds differ more from man than the way in which they can build and yet leave a landscape as it was before. ~Robert Lynd, The Blue Lion and Other Essays
You rise early in the morning and go outdoors to make a before-breakfast circuit of the house and snuff the garden air ingrained with gold. But though you think yourself taking the day by the prime, it is already old to the birds. Their airy brawling, reduplicated chirrup and tweetling, their almost crazy jargoneering, has been going on for hours. So it is in the tree-tops of the mind. ~Christopher Morley, Inward Ho!, 1923
Not everything is black or white
Some things are lonely grey
Like windows looking out on rain at dusk
Or the bitter pain in winter skies
when all the birds are gone...
~H. Joanne Hardee, from "Some Things Are Grey," in Our Western World's Most Beautiful Poems, edited and published by John Campbell, World of Poetry Press, 1985
...the OWL has the most rare and unfathomable wisdom in his face of anything on the top side of this green earth. ~Josh Billings, revised by H. Montague
Dawn-giddy birds chirp as if every morning is a special occasion. Wise, wise birds. ~Terri Guillemets
Grass commence a-comin'
Thoo de thawin' groun',
Evah bird dat whistles
Keepin' noise erroun';
Cain't sleep in de mo'nin',
Case befo' it 's light
Bluebird an' de robin,
Done begun to fight.
~Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872–1906), "Spring Fever"
"Hear! hear!" screamed the jay from a neighboring tree, where I had heard a tittering for some time, "winter has a concentrated and nutty kernel, if you know where to look for it." ~Henry David Thoreau, 28 November 1858 journal entry
The clouds are my family.
When you cannot find me,
it is because my sisters
and brothers have called me.
We are singing circles of prayers
about the earth...
~James McGrath (b.1928), "Bird," written in the 1970s, published in Dreaming Invisible Voices, 2009 [My favorite poem in the entire book is "Cicada" — but you'll have to read it yourself. —tεᖇᖇ¡·g]
It was wonderful cycling through the woods this evening. I was deafened with bird song. ~Noël Coward, Blithe Spirit: An Improbable Farce in Three Acts, 1941
The bluejays are by far the fanciest fliers in the woods of Waldeck, working both wings anywhichway like an agile swimmer. ~David J. Beard (1947–2016), tweet, 2007 December 13th
Roosters: The cry of the male chicken is the most barbaric yawp in all of nature. ~Edward Abbey, Vox Clamantis in Deserto, 1989
I heard the sweet voice of a robin,
High up in the maple tree,
Joyously, singing his happy song
To his feathered mate, in glee!...
If we could be like this tiny bird,
Just living from day to day,
Holding no bitterness in our hearts
For those we meet on our way...
~Gertrude Tooley Buckingham, "Heaven on Earth" (1940s)
It was a big bird, a sorcerer wearing sleek black robes, its two talons tucked against its body as if each grasped a marble.... ravens, they all look alike... They stay hidden in their cloaks, notoriously intelligent birds, a shrewdness I could sense in this bird's stare. ~Craig Childs, "Raven," The Animal Dialogues: Uncommon Encounters in the Wild, 2007
Birdsong: a branch of music. ~Terri Guillemets
When nature made the blue-bird she wished to propitiate both the sky and the earth, so she gave him the color of the one on his back and the hue of the other on his breast. ~John Burroughs
Road Runner, I am curious,
You've got me wondering why
You're always in a foot race,
I've never seen you fly.
You run along the yucca ridge,
And across the desert floor,
You run and keep on running,
And then you run some more...
~Harry Golden, "The Road Runner and I," in Arizona Highways, September 1971
My music breathes of art; — hers is the warble
Borne up to heaven, in the morning's blue calms.
~Florence Percy (Elizabeth Anne Chase Akers Allen, 1832–1911), "Two," Forest Buds, from the Woods of Maine, 1855
Birds are beautiful and amazing creatures, until you walk underneath one who had a big lunch. ~Terri Guillemets, "Above & below," 1994
We like to praise birds for flying. But how much of it is actually flying, and how much of it is just sort of coasting from the previous flap? ~Jack Handey, Deeper Thoughts: All New, All Crispy
A wonderful bird is the pelican
His bill will hold more than his belican.
He can take in his beak
Food enough for a week,
But I'm damned if I see how the helican.
~Dixon Lanier Merritt
The blackbird and the thrush, indeed, sing the passion and beauty of their love long after the sunset has gilded the evening sky until the lacy trees stand motionless against the pale green spaces of Heaven, and a honey-coloured moon floats from the Eastern horizon. Then at last there is a hush, till the moonlight wakes the nightingales, and their music, unearthly and strangely sweet, troubles the night with beauty. ~Dallas Kenmare Browne Kelsey (c.1905–1970), "The Music of Nature," 1931
Welcome, welcome, little stranger,
Fear no harm, and fear no danger;
We are glad to see you here,
For you sing "Sweet Spring is near."
~Louisa May Alcott, "To The First Robin," 1840
The crow in his purity I believe is seen and heard only in the North. Before you reach the Potomac there is an infusion of a weaker element, the fish-crow, whose helpless feminine call contrasts strongly with the hearty masculine caw of the original Simon. ~John Burroughs, "Winter Sunshine"
Hark, love, while through this wood we walk,
Beneath melodious trees,
How wrens with redbreasts ever talk
What tuneful words they please...
No graybeard linguist, love, could vie
With our large learning, then!
You'd speak to me in Redbreast; I
Would answer you in Wren!
~Edgar Fawcett, "Bird-Language," Songs of Doubt and Dream, 1891
A flock of geese leave their lake and take wing, turning to poems in the sky. ~Dr. SunWolf, tweet, 2011, professorsunwolf.com
Happier of happy though I be, like them
I cannot take possession of the sky,
Mount with a thoughtless impulse and wheel there
One of a mighty multitude, whose way
And motion is a harmony and dance
Autumn birds speak cheerful poetry from their berry-stained beaks. ~Terri Guillemets
But there in your stony and windswept garden
a blackbird is confirming the grip of the land.
You, you, he murmurs, dark purple in his voice.
~Anne Stevenson, "North Sea Off Carnoustie"
People who say that an anorexic "eats like a bird" have clearly had no experience with bluejays. ~David J. Beard (1947–2016), tweet, 2008 February 16th
Birds of a feather flock together and crap on your car. ~Author unknown
[T]hese flowers, so fragrant, grew
And the birds and bees sipped sweet nectar
From the sparkling, morning dew.
God has blessed all beauties of Nature;
He's set His approval and seal
On all of His small, winged messengers
That fly through the air with such zeal.
~Gertrude Tooley Buckingham, "Honeysuckle" (1940s)
The crow is as cunning as the average jack-leg, cross-roads lawyer and politician, and almost as much of a dead beat. ~Josh Billings, revised by H. Montague
CROW A bird that never complains without caws. ~Charles Wayland Towne, The Foolish Dictionary, Executed by Gideon Wurdz, Master of Pholly, Doctor of Loquacious Lunacy, etc., 1904
The ducks pushed their gold-coloured bills here and there (yet dirty, as gold is apt to be), and they jumped on the triangles of their feet, and sounded out of their nostrils; and some of the over-excited ones ran along low on the ground, quacking. Annie began to cry "Dilly dilly, einy einy, ducksey," according to the burden of a tune they seem to have accepted as the national duck's anthem; but instead of being soothed by it, they only quacked three times as hard, and ran round, till we were giddy. And then they shook their tails all together and went round and round again. I am uncommonly fond of ducks, and it is a fine sight to behold them walk, poddling one after other, with their toes out, like soldiers drilling, and their little eyes cocked all ways at once, and the way that they dib with their bills, and dabble, and throw up their heads and enjoy something, and then tell the others about it. ~Richard Doddridge Blackmore, Lorna Doone: A Romance of Exmoor, 1869 [a little altered —tg]
Birds chirping in the trees: the happy sound of freedom. ~Terri Guillemets, "Cageless," 1994
I have looked at an OWL for a solid hour in a shop window to see if he would wink, until I was ashamed of my impudence trying to gaze him out of countenance. I afterwards found that he was stuffed, but I would like for some scientist to tell me if an owl ever did wink; and if so how often? ~Josh Billings, revised by H. Montague & T. Guillemets
There are joys which long to be ours. God sends ten thousands truths, which come about us like birds seeking inlet; but we are shut up to them, and so they bring us nothing, but sit and sing awhile upon the roof, and then fly away. ~Henry Ward Beecher
My favorite weather is bird-chirping weather. ~Terri Guillemets, "April morning on the patio," 1988
The little owls call to each other with tremulous, quavering voices throughout the livelong night, as they sit in the creaking trees. ~Theodore Roosevelt
Birds sing after a storm; why shouldn't people feel as free to delight in whatever sunlight remains to them? ~Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy, Times to Remember, 1974, decorated version of a proverb
A poet can translate birdsong much more faithfully than the biologist ever could. ~Terri Guillemets
It might almost be said that the birds are all birds of the poets and of no one else, because it is only the poetical temperament that fully responds to them. All the great ornithologists have been poets in deed if not in word. The very idea of a bird is a symbol and a suggestion to the poet — so vehement and intense in his life, large brained, large lunged, hot, ecstatic, his frame charged with buoyancy and his heart with song — the beautiful vagabonds, endowed with every grace, masters of all climes, and knowing no bounds. Indeed, is not the bird the original type and teacher of the poet? Keats and Shelley, perhaps, most notably, have the bird-organization and the piercing wild-bird cry — the sharp semi-tones of the sparrows and larks. The oldest poets, the antique bards, make little mention of songbirds but loved better the soaring, swooping birds of prey, the eagle, the ominous birds, the vultures, the clamorous sea-birds and screaming hawks. These suited better the rugged, warlike character of the times. Homer must've heard the twittering of swallows and the warble of nightingales; but they were not adequate symbols to express what he felt or to adorn his theme. It is not because the old bards were less as poets, but that they were more as men. ~John Burroughs, "Birds and Poets," 1873 [altered –tg]
A bird does not sing because it has an answer. It sings because it has a song. ~Chinese Proverb
Birdsong is a symphony of the skies. ~Terri Guillemets
Last saved 2021 Jan 24 Sun 16:57 PST