Feathers Quotes - Page 20

• Ocean into tempest wrought, To waft a feather, or to drown a fly.

  Edward Young

  Ocean, Tempest

  Edward Young, Charles Edward DE COETLOGON (1793). “Night thoughts on life death and immortality ... to which are added the life of the author and a paraphrase on part of the Book of Job”, p.8

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• Every sky with its varied tints and every feather of each bird were coloured by hand; and when it is considered that nearly two hundred and eighty thousand illustrations in the present work have been so treated, it will most likely cause some astonishment to those who give the subject a thought.

  John Gould

  Book, Sky, Two

  John Gould (1873). “An Introduction to the Birds of Great Britain”, p.4

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• We can not understand each other, if every time we venture out we stick the feather of cocksureness in our caps. No, we can never wholly understand each other, and rise to the level of mutual esteem at least, if we do not invest in that fellow feeling that triumphs over class and creed and race and color.

  Ameen Rihani

  Color, Class, Race

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• Some birds are not meant to be caged, that's all. Their feathers are too bright, their songs too sweet and wild. So you let them go, or when you open the cage to feed them they somehow fly out past you. And the part of you that knows it was wrong to imprison them in the first place rejoices, but still, the place where you live is that much more drab and empty for their departure.

  Stephen King

  Friendship, Letting Go, Song

  FaceBook post by Stephen King from Jan 08, 2014

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• I have to remind myself that some birds aren't meant to be caged. Their feathers are just too bright. And when they fly away, the part of you that knows it was a sin to lock them up does rejoice.

  Morgan Freeman

  Struggle, Bird, Doe

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• Books are everywhere; and always the same sense of adventure fills us. Second-hand books are wild books, homeless books; they have come together in vast flocks of variegated feather, and have a charm which the domesticated volumes of the library lack. Besides, in this random miscellaneous company we may rub against some complete stranger who will, with luck, turn into the best friend we have in the world.

  Virginia Woolf

  Book, Adventure, Hands

  Virginia Woolf (2009). “Selected Essays”, p.311, OUP Oxford

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