Everything perfect in its kind has to transcend its own kind, it m

Everything perfect in its kind has to transcend its own kind, it must become something different and incomparable. In some notes the nightingale is still a bird; then it rises above its class and seems to suggest to every winged creature what singing is truly like. – Johann von Goethe

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The birds are moulting. If only man could moult also — his mind once a year its errors, his heart once a year its useless passions. – James Allen

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Birds

Those little nimble musicians of the air, that warble forth their curious ditties, with which nature hath furnished them to the shame of art. – Izaak Walton

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Birds

The crow in his purity I believe is seen and heard only in the North. Before you reach the Potomac there is an infusion of a weaker element, the fish-crow, whose helpless feminine call contrasts strongly with the hearty masculine caw of the original Simon. – John Burroughs, “Winter Sunshine”

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Birds

Happier of happy though I be, like them I cannot take possession of the sky, mount with a thoughtless impulse, and wheel there, one of a mighty multitude whose way and motion is a harmony and dance magnificent. – William Wordsworth

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Birds

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