A Quote by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

How do the geese know when to fly to the sun? — © Elisabeth Kubler-Ross
How do the geese know when to fly to the sun?
I've shown the players geese videos. I've shown them why geese fly in V formation, what everybody's role is, how geese support each other and, most importantly, why you fly further together. That's the bottom line. Geese wouldn't be able to migrate to the sun without all traveling together. It's the same for us.
How do geese know when to fly to the sun? Who tells them the seasons? How do we, humans know when it is time to move on? As with the migrant birds, so surely with us, there is a voice within if only we would listen to it, that tells us certainly when to go forth into the unknown.
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.
I'm going to tell you the story about the geese which fly 5,000 miles from Canada to France. They fly in V-formation but the second ones don't fly. They're the subs for the first ones. And then the second ones take over - so it's teamwork.
Winter's not gone yet, if the wild geese fly that way.
I'm going to tell you the story about the geese which fly 5,000 miles from Canada to France.
I know how to learn anything I want to learn. I absolutely know that I could learn how to fly the space shuttle because someone else knows how to fly it, and they put it in a book. Give me the book, and I do not need somebody to stand up in front of the class.
There are no golden geese. There are only fat geese eating the food that could nourish more athletic opportunities for women.
Fly, on your way, like an eagle / Fly as high as the Sun.
Let us see how high we can fly before the sun melts the wax in our wings.
I ask people who don't fly, "How can you not fly when you live in a time in history when you can fly?"
Look how the smaller birds greet the sun, with so much merry chirruping and so much outpouring of song! It is their way of expressing worship for the only Light they can know, an outer one. But man can also know the inner Sun, the Light of the Overself. How much more reason has he to chirp and sing than the little birds! Yet how few man feel gratitude for such privilege.
You are not called to be a canary in a cage. You are called to be an eagle, and to fly sun to sun, over continents.
I may not know how to fly but I know how to read, and that's almost the same thing.
I dropped my hoe and ran into the house and started to write this poem, 'End of Summer.’ It began as a celebration of wild geese. Eventually the geese flew out of the poem, but I like to think they left behind the sound of their beating wings.
Let the long contention cease! / Geese are swans, and swans are geese.
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