Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Swans. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Swans Quotes And Sayings by 90 Authors including J.a. Redmerski,J.d. Salinger,Anna Pavlova,Mark Edwards,Cecil Woodham-Smith for you to enjoy and share.
My beautiful swan. My savior and my undoing.
Where do the ducks go in the winter?
Get my swan costume ready.
wankers snorting
The Duchess (of Kent) was a duck who had hatched a swan.
Ducks! Embrace me as your king!
Yeah," I said. "What is that? A bird? "It's the swan," he said. "Wow. A school with a swan. Wow."
"That swan is the spawn of Satan. Never get closer to it than we are now.
Seagulls ... slim yachts of the element.
I don't have ugly ducklings turning into swans in my stories. I have ugly ducklings turning into confident ducks.
Smile for the camera, pretty little Sydney Tar Ponds.
Ugly ducklings often turn into beautiful swans when they are tested.
I was a swan, but ripped apart and taped haphazardly back together again.
Ducks, embrace me as your king!
James Herondale.
Queer Ducks flock together.
the distant cries of the seagulls
I say and maintain, that of all torcheculs, arsewisps, bumfodders, tail-napkins, bunghole cleansers, and wipe-breeches, there is none in the world comparable to the neck of a goose ...
What a dull world if we knew all about geese!
One man's duck is another man's swan.
I've also been chased by a swan over by the pond one time. That's why I don't go there anymore.
What do they do with those ducks, in the winter?
Though what bird in the best of circumstances does not look a little stricken?
Birds coming home to roost.
Women who start out as ugly ducklings don't become beautiful swans. What they mainly become is confident ducks. They take charge of their lives.
soaring with the eagles leaving the turkeys behind
verb swon to swear, derivative of swannee I swan, raising kids is like being pecked to death by a chicken
Perthites were like the Swan River's jellyfish - small pink blobs adrift in a warm environment.
Swans moulting die, snow melts to tears,
Roses do blush and hang their heads
The dying swan, when years her temples pierce, In music-strains breathes out her life and verse, And, chanting her own dirge, tides on her wat'ry hearse.
His own image; no longer a dark, gray bird, ugly and disagreeable to look at, but a graceful and beautiful swan. To be born in a duck's nest, in a farmyard, is of no consequence to a bird, if it is hatched from a swan's egg.
Once-ler! You're making such smogulous smoke - my poor swomee swans, why they can't sing a note! No one can sing who has smog in his throat.
Let's go join the Black Swan!
You think that upon the score of fore-knowledge and divining I am infinitely inferior to the swans. When they perceive approaching death they sing more merrily than before, because of the joy they have in going to the God they serve.
Joys are our wings, sorrows our spurs.
No number of sightings of white swans can prove the theory that all swans are white. The sighting of just one black one may disprove it.
Every morning
before the birds start
trilling me their stories,
I give birth to a new love
through my same old heart
when a lake's placidity
finds life in the swans breath
Only for you...
From the poem 'Only For You
Penguins skate. Penguins spin. Penguins love to make you grin.
Lord love a duck.
The old woman remembered a swan she had bought many years ago in Shanghai for a foolish sum. This bird, boasted the market vendor, was once a duck that stretched its neck in hopes of becoming a goose, and now look!
it is too beautiful to eat.
Called by the sirens and followed by an albatross.
I love penguins.
Does a one-legged duck swim in circles?
A fine morning's killing, ay! All their necks wrung - all dead birds! Once they could fly - fly and swim! Fly and swim! All dead now - and sold cheap in the open market!
The swan in the pool is singing, And up and down doth he steer, And, singing gently ever, Dips under the water clear.
Feather by feather the goose is plucked.
chooks. You cannot go away and leave
So many birds sitting around, on a dead wire, a bare branch, a cold ground, a drifting seashore; never realizing the glory in their wings and where it can take them, nor the envy as we look on them.
How can you be dour when you have a tiny duck?
I spread my arms. In the Rainbow Jungles of Ever there lives what I affectionately call, killer ducks.
And little eagles wave their wings in gold.
There were always the birds
Strut' said Ursula. 'One wants to strut, to be a swan among geese
What birds can have their bills more peculiarly formed than the ibis, the spoonbill, and the heron?
You just didn't bring a pitchfork to a swan fight.
Short swallow-flights of song, that dip Their wings in tears, and skim away.
Never your bird, never finch
never graceful feathered thing.
The evening advanced. The shadows lengthened. The waters of the lake grew pitchy black. The gliding of the ghostly swans became rare and more rare.
To count a few gulls makes the journey happy.
In the reedy bend, under the willow bank,
My wife and children smile with me.
The moment I fall asleep, wind and waves are quiet;
No glory, no disgrace, and not a single worry.
Sheep with a nasty side.
In Washington they have their hawks and doves and in Ottawa we have our parrots.
There's a double beauty whenever a swan
Swims on a lake with her double thereon.
It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries.
Calligraphy of geese
against the sky-
the moon seals it.
I will play the swan. And die in music.
The swan murmurs sweet strains with a flattering tongue, itself the singer of its own dirge.
She saw, yet again, that her friend's compliments were just bits of art and artifice. They were paper swans, cunningly folded so that they could float on the air for a few moments. Nothing more.
the Cup That Cheers
Why be an ostrich?
But who does hawk at eagles with a dove?
The greylag mate for life? If ye kill a grown goose, hunting, ye must always wait, for the mate will come to mourn. Then ye must try to kill the second, too, for otherwise it will grieve itself to death, calling through the skies for the lost one.
Pigeons: They've got wings, but they walk a lot ...
Nothing in all those "O swan" poems had ever mentioned that they hissed. Or resented being mistaken for felines. Or bit.
There never was such a goose.
A giant motherboard of geese,
unruffled by the state
police, swarmed in unison,
in harmony...
All along the backwater,
Through the rushes tall,
Ducks are a-dabbling,
Up tails all!
Ducks' tails, drakes' tails,
Yellow feet a-quiver,
Yellow bills all out of sight
Busy in the river!
A fig for partridges and quails, ye dainties I know nothing of ye; But on the highest mount in Wales Would choose in peace to drink my coffee.
One single observation can invalidate a general statement derived from millennia of confirmatory sightings of millions of white swans. All you need is one single (and, I am told, quite ugly) black bird.*
You could look at birds all your life without ever knowing what was a sparrow and what was a blackbird, but we all know a swan when we see it.
Merrily, merrily goes the bark On a breeze from the northward free, So shoots through the morning sky the lark, Or the swan through the summer sea.
Being born in a duck yard does not matter, if only you are hatched from a swan's egg.
Don't be a goose!
Albatrosses and penguins are the last birds I'd want to murder.
Australopithecus.
Again the blackbirds sings; the streams Wake, laughing, from their winter dreams, And tremble in the April showers The tassels of the maple flowers.
Cor, love a duck. And also Lawks-a-mercy. I said that inwardly, but outwardly I said, Blimey, and also, what larks.
If you're looking for monogamy, you'd better marry a swan.
Eagles are seagulls with a good hairdo.
Then came night
that was like falling water.
At times, for hours,
a bird spirit,
half buzzard, half swan,
just above the rushes
from which a snow-storm howls.
Let geese
Gabble and hiss, but heroes seek release
From dusty bondage into luminous air.
Six biscuits, crow, hydrant!
Goats and monkies!
Now for reasons that have to do with the increase of the artificial, the move away from ancestral and natural models, and the loss in robustness owing to complications in the design of everything, the role of Black Swans in increasing.
It doesn't matter if you're born in a duck yard, so long as you are hatched from a swan's egg!
The BALLPOINT PENGUINS, black and white,
Do little else but write and write.
Although they've nothing much to say,
They write and write it anyway ...
For beauty with sorrow Is a burden hard to be borne: The evening light on the foam, and the swans, there; That music, remote, forlorn.
Last night, the stars on the water were trap doors. The crows
with their charred wings are complaining to a hawk. It's time
to pack up the sunsets the dawns and move on.
Pop, pop, sounded in the air, and the two wild geese fell dead among the rushes, and the water was tinged with blood.
When hawks cry, time to fly.
The clouds, - the only birds that never sleep.
All the birds had flown away, save only the great, grotesque penguins.
The Welsh ... I mean, what are they for?