I am a free man. I feel as light as a feather.
We have enslaved the rest of the animal creation, and have treated our distant cousins in fur and feathers so badly that beyond doubt, if they were able to formulate a religion, they would depict the Devil in human form.
Imagine if birds were tickled by feathers. You'd see a flock of birds come by, laughing hysterically!
The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight.
The liveness in me just loves to feel the liveness in growing things, in grass and rain and leaves and flowers and sun and feathers and furs and earth and sand and moss.
How can I lose faith in the justice of life, when the dreams of those who sleep upon feathers are not more beautiful than the dreams of those who sleep upon the earth?
I don't know what this feather means, the story of it, but I know it means he was thinking of me. For all these years. He remembered me.
As the eagle was killed by the arrow winged with his own feather, so the hand of the world is wounded by its own skill.
Listen: there was once a king sitting on his throne. Around Him stood great and wonderfully beautiful columns ornamented with ivory, bearing the banners of the king with great honour. Then it pleased the king to raise a small feather from the ground, and he commanded it to fly. The feather flew, not because of anything in itself but because the air bore it along. Thus am I, a feather on the breath of God.
Whether two birds of a feather fly or fall, it'll be together.
Over the months, I kept seeing more feathers, especially at moments when I was really down and distraught. You ask for signs in your life, but what you get is more like a confirmation: You are where you need to be. Just take a deep breath.
As a breath of wind or some echo rebounds from smooth, hard surfaces and returns to the source from which it issued, so the stream of beauty passes back into its possessor through his eyes, which is its natural route to the soul; arriving there and setting him all aflutter, it waters the passages of the feathers and causes the wings to grow, and fills the soul of the loved one in his turn with love.
The world is not a burden; we make it a burden by our desires. When the desires are removed, the world is as light as a feather on an elephant's back.
Feather to fire,fire to blood Blood to bone,bone to marrow Marrow to ashes,ashes to snow...
Fine feathers, they say, make fine birds.
Because the heart beats under a covering of hair, of fur, feathers, or wings, it is, for that reason, to be of no account?
Why slap them on the wrist with feather when you can belt them over the head with a sledgehammer.
Dad once said to me that should he pass away, if there was some way of letting me know he was going to be ok - that we were all going to be ok - the message would come to me in the form of a white feather. Then something happened to me about ten years ago when I was on tour in Australia. I was presented with a white feather by an Aboriginal tribal elder, which definitely took my breath away. One thing for sure is that the white feather has always represented peace to me.
If you keep your feathers well oiled the water of criticism will run off as from a duck's back.
Men think highly of those who rise rapidly in the world; whereas nothing rises quicker than dust, straw, and feathers.
Flying without feathers is not easy: my wings have no feathers.
Like a feather in a dust storm, with no direction The Raven flies through life, helpless and omitted Until night declares and the wind expires. Then it flies to the land of stones and etchings And becomes an Ember, breaking away
Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I've heard it in the chilliest land And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me.
the power of philosophy floats through my head.. light like a feather, heavy as lead.
Something told the wild geese It was time to go. Though the fields lay golden Something whispered, "snow." Leaves were green and stirring, Berries, luster-glossed, But beneath warm feathers Something cautioned, "frost." All the sagging orchards Steamed with amber spice But each wild breast stiffened At remembered ice. Something told the wild geese It was time to fly- Summer sun was on their wings, Winter in their cry.
Follow AzQuotes on Facebook, Twitter and Google+. Every day we present the best quotes! Improve yourself, find your inspiration, share with friends
or simply: