A Quote by Jonathan Safran Foer

Feathers filled the small room. Our laughter kept the feathers in the air. I thought about birds. Could they fly is there wasn't someone, somewhere, laughing? — © Jonathan Safran Foer
Feathers filled the small room. Our laughter kept the feathers in the air. I thought about birds. Could they fly is there wasn't someone, somewhere, laughing?
I asked my schoolmate Mary to write a letter to me. She was funny and full of life. She liked to run around her empty house without any clothes on, even once she was too old for that. Nothing embarrassed her. I admired that so much, because everything embarrassed me, and that hurt me. She loved to jump on her bed. She jumped on her bed for so many years that one afternoon, while I watched her jump, the seams burst. Feathers filled the small room. Our laughter kept the feathers in the air. I thought about birds. Could they fly if there wasn’t someone, somewhere, laughing?
Without feathers it isn't easy to fly: my wings have got no feathers. [Lat., Sine pennis volare hau facilest: meae alae pennas non habent.] [Alt., Flying without feathers is not easy; my wings have no feathers.]
Imagine if birds were tickled by feathers. You'd see a flock of birds come by, laughing hysterically!
In painting feathers, you want to create the look of feathers, but if you try to paint all the feathers, you have nothing but disaster.
A few days back someone sent me two feathers. Two bird's feathers in a sheet of note-paper with a coronet, and fastened with a seal. Sent from a place a long way off; from one who need not have sent them back at all. That amused me too, those devilish green feathers.
Feathers! spluttered Sargatanas. Feathers are for the birds, my boy. Flaking, peeling, scale-ridden wings, now that's what real beings wear. I'll tell you a secret. He said, and drew me closer. The eternal pain at having known Paradise and lost it is priceless. I wouldn't swap it for anything.
We flashed our feathers when the feathers were fit to be flashed, and now, in drearier days, many stay indoors.
I have to remind myself that some birds aren't meant to be caged. Their feathers are just too bright. And when they fly away, the part of you that knows it was a sin to lock them up does rejoice.
I'm one of those people who was taught not to ruffle any feathers. Of course, I have no problem ruffling feathers.
Flying without feathers is not easy: my wings have no feathers.
Feathers predate birds.
Kevin Costner has feathers in his hair and feathers in his head. The Indians should have called him 'Plays with Camera.'
Kevin Costner has feathers in his hair and feathers in his head. The Indians should have called him 'Plays with Camera.
How wrong Emily Dickinson was! Hope is not "the thing with feathers." The thing with feathers has turned out to be my nephew. I must take him to a specialist in Zurich.
Why, Jon, why?" his mother asked. "Why is it so hard to be like the rest of the flock, Jon? Why can't you leave low flying to the pelicans, the alhatross? Why don't you eat? Son, you're bone and feathers!" "I don't mind being bone and feathers mom. I just want to know what I can do in the air and what I can't, that's all. I just want to know.
I have to remind myself that some birds aren’t meant to be caged. Their feathers are just too bright.
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