Top 1200 I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings Quotes & Sayings - Page 2

He is a fool who lets slip a bird in the hand for a bird in the bush.

Everyone wants to understand art. Why don't we try to understand the song of a bird? Why do we love the night, the flowers, everything around us, without trying to understand them? But in the case of a painting, people think they have to understand.

I know why we're strong. I know why we have held together; I know why we are united: it's because there's always been a growing middle class.

You put his brain in a bird, the bird would fly backwards" -Secret Life of the Bees

A fish swims in the ocean, and no matter how far it swims there is no end to the water. A bird flies in the sky, and no matter how far it flies there is no end to the air. However the fish and the bird have never left their elements. Thus each of them totally covers its full range, and each of them totally experiences its realm... Know that water is life and air is life. The bird is life and the fish is life. Life must be the bird and life must be the fish... practice, enlightenment and people are like this.

anyone who sings about love and harmony and life [john lennon] is dangerous to someone who sings about death and killing and subduing [Nixon]

You have to love with an open hand. The heart is like a bird and you have to let this bird fly freely, you cannot possess it.

"And when you had made sure of the poor little fool," said my aunt - "God forgive me that I should call her so, and she gone where YOU won't go in a hurry - because you had not done wrong enough to her and hers, you must begin to train her, must you? begin to break her, like a poor caged bird, and wear her deluded life away, in teaching her to sing YOUR notes?"

There's not usually one reason why we do anything and, in fact, often we don't know why we've done what we've done, especially what we have said or why, for instance, in conversation, which can be very tricky. Finally, we say something and think, "Why did we say that?" In retrospect we might know.

How sweet the harmonies of the afternoon! The Blackbird sings along the sunny breeze His ancient song of leaves, and summer boon; Rich breath of hayfields streams thro' whispering trees; And birds of morning trim their bustling wings, And listen fondly--while the Blackbird sings.

I was asked by the National Institute of Health to be their scientific discussant on the effects of these drug [Ritalin] at a big conference they held. Beforehand, I reviewed all of the important literature on the issue. Even with experiments on animals. When they're given these drugs they stop playing; they stop being curious; they stop socializing; they stop trying to escape. We make good caged animals with these drugs. And we make good caged kids by knocking their spontaneity out of them. And, Michael, the other thing is that these drugs enforce obsessive behavior.

'How' is a great thing to know. 'Why' is the ultimate. I'm the 'why' coach. Why are we doing this? Why are we not doing that? Why is this not working? Those are the things I want to know.

If you're a bird, be an early bird. But if you're a worm, sleep late.

When the bird and the book disagree, believe the bird.

I'm one of the few people that I know that sings better than they did 20 years ago.

I do not know who sings my songs / Before they are sung by me.

I really don't want my daughters to know me for being that guy who sings songs.

Harry was just thinking that all he needed was for Dumbledore's pet bird to die while he was all alone in the office with it, when the bird burst into flames.

You know, my sister sings, my brother plays drums in my band. My whole family is a bunch of musicians.

Even towards yourself you have to be tremendously loving, because you too are god's form. One has to love oneself, one has to love all. Love is prayer. And the more you love, the more you will feel your consciousness expanding, becoming bigger - because whomsoever we love becomes part of our being, we include him. Mm? A bird on the wing, and we look at the bird with great love - suddenly we are not two: the bird is inside us and we are inside the bird.

A bird in the hand is a certainty, but a bird in the bush may sing.

Why does a silly bird go on saying "chiff-chaff" all day long? Is it happiness or hiccups?

I've been told that some members of Congress disagree with my tax cut proposal. Well, you know it's been said that taxation is the art of plucking feathers without killing the bird. It's time they realized the bird just doesn't have any feathers left.

Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I've heard it in the chilliest land And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me.

You will remember when a bird crashed through the window and fell to the floor. You will remember, those of you who were there, how it jerked its wings before dying, and left a spot of blood on the floor after it was removed. But who among you was first to notice the negative bird it left in the window? Who first saw the shadow that the bird left behind, the shadow that drew blood from any finger that dared to trace it, the shadow that was better proof of the bird's existence than the bird ever was?

In the deepest night of trouble and sorrow God gives us so much to be thankful for that we need never cease our singing. With all our wisdom and foresight we can take a lesson in gladness and gratitude from the happy bird that sings all night, as if the day were not long enough to tell its joy.

A bird in hand is a certainty. But a bird in the bush may sing.

I roamed the countryside searching for answers to things I did not understand. Why shells existed on the tops of mountains. How the various circles of water form around the spot which has been struck by a stone, and why a bird sustains itself in the air.

You said your cousin was a necromancer. You know how the natural necromancers operate?" They twisted the head off your favorite doll, stuffed a dead bird into it, and made it walk around. And then they were puzzled why you got upset.

I am a person who sings. I know not everyone is, but that won't keep the Spirit from putting a song in your heart.

My father used to say: Every bird is one bird, and every book is one book, and every bird and every book is one thing too, under the words and the feathers." He finished with a flourish, as though the meaning of this was self-evident.

Perfect as the wing of a bird may be, it will never enable the bird to fly.

He watched a catbird hopping around in an azalea that was readying itself to bloom; he envied the bird for knowing nothing of what he knew; he would have swapped souls with it in a heartbeat. And then to take wing, to know the air's buoyancy even for an hour: the trad was a no-brainer, and the catbird, with its lively indifference to him, its sureness of physical selfhood, seemed well aware of how preferable it was to be the bird.

Not an angel of the air, Bird melodious or bird fair, Be absent hence!

What is joy? It is a bird That we all want to catch. It is the same bird That we all love to see flying.

I remember being a bathtub singer. You know, the type that sings and everybodys like, Shut up.

This autumn- why am I growing old? bird disappearing among clouds.

It was a bird. A bird struggling through stickiness: a bird coated in paint, floundering in its nest, splashing color everywhere. Red. Red. Red. Dozens of them: black feathers coated thickly with crimson-colored paint, fluttering among the branches. Red means run.

Paleontologists have tried to turn Archaeopteryx into an earth-bound, feathered dinosaur. But it's not. It is a bird, a perching bird. And no amount of 'paleobabble' is going to change that.

In my old age, it's kind of funny - at night, what I like to do is watch TV when I go to sleep. And what I really like is to put on a Gene Autry film, because he sings really well. So he sings me to sleep.

Why is the world round? Why do the suckas bite? Why do the freaks come out at night? Why they paint Jesus white? I sit and wonder why we breakin hip-hop laws, Doing videos in houses that we know ain't yours.

I remember being a bathtub singer. You know, the type that sings and everybody's like, 'Shut up.'

When government does, occasionally, work, it works in an elitist fashion. That is, government is most easily manipulated by people who have money and power already. This is why government benefits usually go to people who don't need benefits from government. Government may make some environmental improvements, but these will be improvements for rich bird-watchers. And no one in government will remember that when poor people go bird-watching they do it at Kentucky Fried Chicken.

We do not ask what hope of gain makes a little bird warble, since we know that it takes delight in singing because it is for that very singing that the bird was made, so there is no need to ask why the human mind undertakes such toil in seeking out these secrets of the heavens. ... And just as other animals, and the human body, are sustained by food and drink, so the very spirit of Man, which is something distinct from Man, is nourished, is increased, and in a sense grows up on this diet of knowledge, and is more like the dead than the living if it is touched by no desire for these things.

A long time ago, I had a bird that annoyed me, and the bird had to go. The bird's neck was snapped. I would also snap Conor McGregor's neck in a similar fashion.

Where are you anyway? (Acheron) I don't know. I hear some godawful kind of music from outside, horns blaring, and I'm in a house with a Mohawk cuckoo bird, a transvestite, and a knife-wielding lunatic. (Valerius) Why are you at Tabitha's? (Acheron)

I've always thought of acting as a tool to change society. I watch a lot of actors and I see panic in their eyes because they don't know why they act and I know why I act. Whether I'm a good or a bad actor, I know why I do it.

Put a bird cage near the window so that the bird can see the sky? It's much better to look than not to, even if it hurts.

When on a summer's morn I wake, And open my two eyes, Out to the clear, born-singing rills My bird-like spirit flies. To hear the Blackbird, Cuckoo, Thrush, Or any bird in song; And common leaves that hum all day Without a throat or tongue. And when Time strikes the hour for sleep, Back in my room alone, My heart has many a sweet bird's song - And one that's all my own.

But I really do have a soft spot for the solo shows. Any musician who writes and sings will tell you that's the center of it, that is it. It's almost like there's something church-like about it and you gotta go back there, if you're a songwriter that sings your material.

The wind comes creeping, it calls to me to come go exploring. It sings of the things that are to be found under the leaves. It whispers the dreams of the tall fir trees. It does pipe the gentle song the forest sings on gray days. I hear all the voices calling me. I listen. But I cannot go.

Since I had my gastric bypass surgery in 1998, I eat like a bird. Unfortunately, that bird is a California condor.

A bird only flies. It does not turn to another bird and ask, am I doing this right?

A little girl loves her bird--Why? Because it lives and feels; because it is helpless and harmless? A toad, likewise, lives and feels, and is equally helpless and harmless; but though she would not hurt a toad, she cannot love it like the bird, with its graceful form, soft feathers, and bright, speaking eyes.

No bird has ever uttered note That was not in some first bird's throat; Since Eden's freshness and man's fall No rose has been original.

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.

I describe the variety of different kinds of experiences I had, from seeing into the future to being inside the body of a bird and feeling the bird consciousness, to being in a plane of existence with beings that do not exist on this planet at all. And I described my experiences to shamans who started to laugh, saying, "Oh, we know those guys."

I learned my color in Europe. I've always been a colorist, I think. I started when I was very young, being a bird-watcher, fascinated by the bird colors.

For us, a pretty bird is a pretty bird; for an insect, pretty bird is an ugly enemy!

Even then, I didn't quite know what to make of it [captain Kirk death]. I was mystified by why I was doing it, why I was so driven to do it, and why it was affecting me like it was. I still don't know what it means. It's a strange singular experience. I don't even know anyone to talk to about it because I don't know anyone who's had that experience.