A Quote by Robert Jordan

If wishes were wings, pigs would fly. — © Robert Jordan
If wishes were wings, pigs would fly.
I have myself a poetical enthusiasm for pigs, and the paradise of my fancy is one where pigs have wings. But it is only men, especially wise men, who discuss whether pigs can fly; we have no particular proof that pigs ever discuss it.
If pigs could fly, yes, of course I would vote for the Democratic Party, but pigs don't fly.
If wishes had wings, sheep would fly.
Most birds were created to fly. Being grounded for them is a limitation within their ability to fly, not the other way around. You, on the other hand, were created to be loved. So for you to live as if you were unloved is a limitation, not the other way around. Living unloved is like clipping a bird’s wings and removing its ability to fly. Not something I want for you. Pain has a way of clipping our wings and keeping us from being able to fly. And if left unresolved for very long, you can almost forget that you were ever created to fly in the first place.
You were born with potential. You were born with goodness and trust. You were born with ideals and dreams. You were born with greatness. You were born with wings. You are not meant for crawling, so don't. You have wings. Learn to use them and fly.
If the lambs were flying, wolves would have also the wings to fly!
If pigs had wings, they would be pigeons.
The human race is like a bird and it needs both wings to be able to fly. And, at the moment, one of is wings is clipped an we're never going to be able to fly as high.
If bringing down the wall would require you to fly, you must believe you can fly. Otherwise, when the decisive moment comes, you will surely discover you ahve no wings.
"Pain has a way of clipping our wings and keeping us from being able to fly"... "And if left unresolved you can almost forget that you were ever created to fly in the first place."
I often say if men were meant to fly we would have been born with either feathers and wings or at the very least parachutes that pop out of our butts.
Our words have wings, but fly not where we would.
WHEN AUGUSTUS CAME OUT on the porch the blue pigs were eating a rattlesnake—not a very big one. It had probably just been crawling around looking for shade when it ran into the pigs. They were having a fine tug-of-war with it, and its rattling days were over.
I would give wings to children, but I would leave it to them to learn how to fly by themselves.
Would a fly without wings be called a walk?
Why would you be given wings if you weren't meant to fly?
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