Be like the bluebird who never is blue, For he knows from his upbringing what singing can do
The bluebird carries the sky on his back.
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.
If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow, why oh why can't I?
Happiness has always seemed like a bluebird, and consists of moments.
Blue skies Smiling at me Nothing but blue skies Do I see Bluebirds Singing a song Nothing but bluebirds All day long
Late at night when the wind is still I'll come flying through your door, And you'll know what love is for. I am a bluebird, I'm a bluebird...
There's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I pour whiskey on him and inhale cigarette smoke and the whores and the bartenders and the grocery clerks never know that he's in there.
There's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out.
A man who never sees a bluebird only half lives.
O bluebird, welcome back again, Thy azure coat and ruddy vest, Are hues that April loveth best.
Measure your health by your sympathy with morning and spring. If there is no response in you to the awakening of nature -if the prospect of an early morning walk does not banish sleep, if the warble of the first bluebird does not thrill you -know that the morning and spring of your life are past. Thus may you feel your pulse.
An optimist is someone who figures that if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's the bluebird of happiness.
The soft mellow warble of the bluebird, heard at its best throughout spring and early summer, is one of the sweetest, most confiding and loving sounds in nature.
Every time I see a bluebird, I say, well, hey, all this hard work is all worth while.
Is there any sign of spring quite so welcome as the glint of the first bluebird unless it is his softly whistled song? No wonder the bird has become the symbol for happiness. Before the farmer begins to plough the wet earth, often while snow is still on the ground, this hardy little minstrel is making himself very much at home in our orchards and gardens while waiting for a mate to arrive from the South.
How readily the bluebirds become our friends and neighbors when we offer them suitable nesting retreats!
Today...the bluebirds, old and young, have revisited their box, as if they would fain repeat the summer without intervention of winter, if Nature would let them.
The Bluebird of Happiness long absent from his life, Ned is visited by the Chicken of Depression.
I read somewhere that happiness is like the bluebird of Maeterlinck: Try to catch it and it loses its color. It's like trying to hold water in your hands. The more you squeeze it, the more the water runs away.
When I bought my farm, I did not know what a bargain I had in the bluebirds, daffodils and thrushes; as little did I know what sublime mornings and sunsets I was buying.
Birds fly Over The Rainbow. Why then, oh why can't I? If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow, why oh why can't I?
There's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I'm too tough for him, I say, stay in there, I'm not going to let anybody see you.
The bluebird enjoys the preeminence of being the first bit of color that cheers our northern landscape. The other birds that arrive about the same time--the sparrow, the robin, the phoebe-bird--are clad in neutral tints, gray, brown, or russet; but the bluebird brings one of the primary hues and the divinest of them all.
The bluebird is well named, for he wears a coat of the purest, richest, and most gorgeous blue on back, wings, and tail; no North American bird better deserves the name, for no other flashes before our admiring eyes so much brilliant blue.
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