Birds Chirping Quotes

• 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.

  Thomas Bailey Aldrich

  Summer, Spring, Fall

  Thomas Bailey Aldrich (1873). “Marjorie Daw and Other People”, p.168

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• Birds... scream at the top of their lungs in horrified hellish rage every morning at daybreak to warn us all of the truth. They know the truth. Screaming bloody murder all over the world in our ears, but sadly we don't speak bird.

  Kurt Cobain

  Sad, Nature, Morning

  "Journals". Book by Kurt Cobain, November 2002.

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• Standing here, in this quiet house where I can hear the birds chirping out back, I think I’m kind of getting the concept of closure. It’s no big dramatic before-after. It’s more like that melancholy feeling you get at the end of a really good vacation. Something special is ending, and you’re sad, but you can’t be that sad because, hey, it was good while it lasted, and there’ll be other vacations, other good times.

  Gayle Forman

  Thinking, Vacation, House

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• There wasn't a cloud in the sky, no wind, and everything was quiet around us - all we could hear were birds chirping in the woods. The war seemed like something in a faraway land that had nothing to do with us. We sang songs as we hiked up the hill, sometimes imitating the birds we heard. Except for the fact that the war was still going on, it was a perfect morning.

  Haruki Murakami

  Song, Morning, War

  "Kafka on the Shore". Book by Haruki Murakami, September 12, 2002.

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• Brute force crushes many plants. Yet the plants rise again. The Pyramids will not last a moment compared with the daisy. And before Buddha or Jesus spoke the nightingale sang, and long after the words of Jesus and Buddha are gone into oblivion the nightingale still will sing. Because it is neither preaching nor commanding nor urging. It is just singing. And in the beginning it was not a Word, but a chirrup.

  D. H. Lawrence

  Crush, Time, Jesus

  D. H. Lawrence, Simonetta de Filippis (2002). “Sketches of Etruscan Places and Other Italian Essays”, p.36, Cambridge University Press

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• What is it with you today?” says Christina on the way to breakfast. Her eyes are still swollen from sleep and her tangled hair forms a fuzzy halo around her face. “Oh, you know,” I say. “Sun shining. Birds chirping.” She raises an eyebrow at me, as if reminding me that we are in an underground tunnel.

  Veronica Roth

  Sleep, Eye, Tunnels

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• The ocean is 20 minutes away. Nature surrounds me 24/7. I wake up to the sounds of birds chirping. I also love that I can go out to dinner in jeans and flip-flops.

  Jordana Brewster

  Ocean, Jeans, Sound

  Interview with Tina Turnbow, tmagazine.blogs.nytimes.com. June 11, 2012.

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• Outside the hospital, I squinted in the harsh morning sunlight. I could hear birds chirping in the tree, but even though I searched for them, they remained hidden from me.

  Nicholas Sparks

  Morning, Tree, Sunlight

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• Man's wobbly little mind isn't equipped for hauling around the great unknowns. Very few people realize, there's no point chasing after answers to life's important questions. They all have fickle, highly whimsical minds of their own. Nevertheless. If you're patient, if you don't rush them, when they're ready, they'll smash into you. And don't be surprised if afterward you're speechless and there are cartoon Tweety Birds chirping around your head. (Gareth van Meer)

  Marisha Pessl

  Men, People, Tweety Bird

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• He sits in an old armchair in the corner covered with bits of blankets and a bucket behind the chair that stinks enough to make you sick and when you look at that old man in the dark corner you want to get a hose with hot water and strip him and wash him down and give him a big feed of rashers and eggs and mashed potatoes with loads of butter and salt and onions.I want to take the man from the Boer War and the pile of rags in the bed and put them in a big sunny house in the country with birds chirping away outside the window and a stream gurgling.

  Frank McCourt

  Country, War, Dark

  Frank McCourt (1999). “Angela's Ashes: A Memoir”, p.317, Simon and Schuster

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