On the road to wisdom, behave like a raven and observe everything carefully!
Some battles are won with swords and spears, others with quills and ravens.
Ravens are the birds I'll miss most when I die. If only the darkness into which we must look were composed of the black light of their limber intelligence. If only we did not have to die at all. Instead, become ravens.
When you do what you want, not what you wish...' said the first raven. 'When you no longer seek your reflection in others' eyes...' said the second. 'When you see yourselves face to face...' said the third. 'Then,' the ravens intoned in unison, 'you will have found what you truly seek.
Cruel birds, ravens, but wise. And creatures should be loved for their wisdom if they cannot be loved for kindness.
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting...
Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as ravens claws.
The raven spread out its glossy wings and departed like hope.
Mad Hatter: “Why is a raven like a writing-desk?” “Have you guessed the riddle yet?” the Hatter said, turning to Alice again. “No, I give it up,” Alice replied: “What’s the answer?” “I haven’t the slightest idea,” said the Hatter
Does wisdom perhaps appear on the earth as a raven which is inspired by the smell of carrion?
Raven?' Yes?' What do you believe in?' I believe in - finding out!
Entranced by the flight of a raven, I watch its shadow move effortlessly against golden, shimmering granite. I long to be that free, flying above the cluttered world of normalcy, where so many are half alive.
Sorrow is not a raven perched persistently above a chamber door. Sorrow is a thing with teeth, and while in time it retreats, it comes back at the whisper of it's name.
From warriors ravens grew red And with their leader a host attacked.
Dat veniam corvis, vexat censura columbas. - Censure acquits the raven, but pursues the dove.
Ravens bring things to people. We're like that. It's our nature. We don't like it.
So lonely I make friends with the ravens that prey on lambs.
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!” Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.
How sweetly did they float upon the wings Of silence through the empty-vaulted night, At every fall smoothing the raven down Of darkness till it smiled!
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.
The raven once in snowy plumes was drest, White as the whitest dove's unsullied breast, Fair as the guardian of the Capitol, Soft as the swan; a large and lovely fowl His tongue, his prating tongue had changed him quite To sooty blackness from the purest white.
To all new truths, or renovation of old truths, it must be as in the ark between the destroyed and the about-to-be renovated world. The raven must be sent out before the dove, and ominous controversy must precede peace and the olive wreath.
And the Raven, never flitting, Still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas Just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming Of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamplight o'er him streaming Throws his shadow on the floor, And my soul from out that shadow, That lies floating on the floor, Shall be lifted - nevermore.
My love is like some raven at my window with a broken wing.
He that visits the sick in hopes of a legacy, but is never so friendly in all other cases, I look upon him as being no better than a raven that watches a weak sheep only to peck out its eyes.
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