A Quote by Kay Ryan

CROWN Too much rain loosens trees. In the hills giant oaks fall upon their knees. You can touch parts you have no right to— places only birds should fly to. — © Kay Ryan
CROWN Too much rain loosens trees. In the hills giant oaks fall upon their knees. You can touch parts you have no right to— places only birds should fly to.
I am from many places. I am from a hike across Tuscany...waves of golden wheat undulating on the hills...tractors plowing new vineyards...taxi drivers yelling, "Bella!" I am from a canoe motoring through marshes in the Amazon outside Manaus, Brazil... Jacana birds taking flight as we pass houses on stilts... giant trees and lily pads...and giggling children jumping into the lake for a swim during a downpour, while I stand unbelievably drenched but baptized by a oneness of spirit.
and the sad notes floated out to the patio and hung in the trees like birds too tired to fly
The birds fly in the wrong places and there are too many stars in the sky.
It would be nice to find a 'planet of trees and birds' in the space; only trees and birds, millions of different trees and millions of different birds!
Freedom is the basic condition for you to touch life, to touch the blue sky, the trees, the birds, the tea, and the other person.
Fall is my favorite season in Los Angeles, watching the birds change color and fall from the trees.
It seemed a strange thing to him, when earth was earth and rain was rain, that scrawny pines should grow in the scrub, while by every branch and lake and river there grew magnolias. Dogs were the same everywhere, and oxen and mules and horses. But trees were different in different places.
The realization that I’d have nothing to take home had finally sunk in. My knees buckled and I slid down the tree trunk to its roots. It was too much. I was too sick and weak and tired, oh, so tired. Let them call the Peacekeepers and take us to the community home, I thought. Or better yet, let me die right here in the rain.
Not only after two or three centuries, but in a million years, life will still be as it was; life does not change, it remains for ever, following its own laws which do not concern us, or which, at any rate, you will never find out. Migrant birds, cranes for example, fly and fly, and whatever thoughts, high or low, enter their heads, they will still fly and not know why or where. They fly and will continue to fly, whatever philosophers come to life among them; they may philosophize as much as they like, only they will fly.
The only kind of water that should fly through the air is rain.
I don't want a be bird because birds get attacked too much. But it would be cool to fly.
The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift, The road is forlorn all day, Where a myriad snowy quartz stones lift, And the hoof-prints vanish away. The roadside flowers, too wet for the bee, Expend their bloom in vain. Come over the hills and far with me, And be my love in the rain.
You must not know too much or be too precise or scientific about birds and trees and flowers and watercraft; a certain free-margin , or even vagueness - ignorance, credulity - helps your enjoyment of these things.
The barks of trees are best gathered in the spring, if it be of great trees, as oaks or the like, because they come easiest off, and so you may dry them if you please, but indeed your best way is to gather all barks only for present use.
I always think of the Pacific Northwest as giant trees, and rain, and clouds and dampness, like the Native American art from that area.
The wise screen writer is he who wears his second-best suit, artistically speaking, and doesn't take things too much to heart. He should have a touch of cynicism, but only a touch. The complete cynic is as useless to Hollywood as he is to himself. He should do the best he can without straining at it. He should be scrupulously honest about his work, but he should not expect scrupulous honesty in return. He won't get it. And when he has had enough, he should say goodbye with a smile, because for all he knows he may want to go back.
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