Comprehensive collection of Birds Quotes. The compilation includes some good quality text submitted by users. Browse through our nice repository of Birds Quotes with latest and new quotes being added quite often. You will find unique quotes and sayings which you can rate and review. Explore best and rare collection of Birds Quotes here, select any text from the wide range and share or send using mobile. Apart from general Birds Quotes, the collection also includes some popular Birds Quotes. You can help us to enrich this collection of Birds Quotes by sending and submitting more messages from your collection to us and by providing nice ideas. This is Part – 7 of Birds Quotes.
So far we have killed 500,000 birds. In some of these areas we have killed 50 percent of all birds and in others only 30 percent.
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Spring would not be spring without bird songs.- Francis M. Chapman
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Sundown had bloodied the horizon over the uneven rooftops of South Boston. Birds were perched on every roof and seemed to be watching the girl walking slowly below. – Cradle and All
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Sure enough, birds were dying.
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Surely in vain the net is spread in the sight of any bird.
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Sweet bird! thy bow’r is ever green, Thy sky is ever clear; thou has’t no sorrow in thy song, No winter in thy year.- John Logan
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Teach me, O lark! with thee to greatly rise, to exalt my soul and lift it to the skies.
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That byrd ys nat honest That fylythe hys owne nest.
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That which prevents disagreeable flies from feeding on your repast, was once the proud tail of a splendid bird.
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That’s the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, Lest you think he could never recapture The first fine careless rapture.
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The assumption right now is that wild birds are vectors.
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The bird That glads the night had cheer’d the listening groves with sweet complainings.
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The bird that had been limed in a bush, With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush.
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The birds, great Nature’s happy commoners, that haunt in woods in meads; and flowery gardens, rifle the sweets and taste the choicest fruits.
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The black-bird whistles from the thorny brake; The mellow bullfinch answers from the grove: Nor are the linnets, o’er the flowering furze Poured out profusely, silent. Joined to these, Innumerous songsters, in the freshening shade Of new-sprung leaves, their modulations mix Mellifluous. The jay, the rook, the daw, And each harsh pipe, discordant heard alone, Aid the full concert: while the stock-dove breathes A melancholy murmur through the whole.
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The cook, that is the trumpet to the morn. Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat A wake the god of day.
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The crack-brained bobolink courts his crazy mate, Poised on a bulrush tipsy with his weight.
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The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark When neither is attended; and I think The nightingale, if she should sing by day, When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren. How many things by season seasoned are To their right praise and true perfection.
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The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests; but the son of man hath not where to lay his head.
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The little birds have God for their caterer.
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