A Quote by Spike Milligan

A bird in The Strand is worth two in Shepherds Bush — © Spike Milligan
A bird in The Strand is worth two in Shepherds Bush
A bird in the hand may be worth two in the bush, but remember also that a bird in the hand is a positive embarrassment to one not in the poultry business.
A bird in the hand was worth two in the bush, he told her, to which she retorted that a proverb was the last refuge of the mentally destitute.
As they say - a bird in the hand is worth one in the bush.
A bird in the hand is worth more than a Bush.
The heart, in its journey to Allah, Majestic is He, is like that of a bird; Love is its head, and fear and hope are its two wings. When the head and two wings are sound, the bird flies gracefully; if the head is severed, the bird dies; if the bird loses one of its wings, it then becomes a target for every hunter or predator.
A bird in the hand is a certainty, but a bird in the bush may sing.
A bird in hand is a certainty. But a bird in the bush may sing.
He is a fool who lets slip a bird in the hand for a bird in the bush.
The bird that hath been limed in a bush, with trembling wings misdoubteth every bush.
A God in the hand is worth two in the bush.
Spotting a rare bird is never worth the bite of a cur. Once bitten by a German shepherd, I knew that I preferred cats, even if they are bird-killers. Life is long enough for more than one chance at a rare bird.
A burden in the bush is worth two on your hands.
I went to see Ocean Colour Scene at Shepherds Bush and and felt part of something. They paved the way for me.
Stories are webs, interconnected strand to strand, and you follow each story to the center, because the center is the end. Each person is a strand of the story.
This is precisely the reason for the dissatisfaction of some, who end up sad - sad priests - in some sense becoming collectors of antiques or novelties, instead of being shepherds living with 'the odor of the sheep.' This I ask you: Be shepherds, with the 'odor of the sheep,' make it real, as shepherds among your flock, fishers of men.
Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep, Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy To kings that fear their subjects treachery?
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