Dinosaurs

"The first time I saw one in Africa I had much the same feeling as Mr. Malik was having now. It was one of happy elation. There is something about the shape of the bird, with its long curved beak and clown’s crest, and the colour of the bird, with its bright russet plumage speckled with bands of black and white—there is even some thing about the very name of the bird—it just cheers you up. Forget the bluebird of happiness, give me a hoopoe every time."

"“That’s a great white heron,” my father told me. “As close to an angel as a bird can get.”"

"Gulls present a unique challenge, not only because most of them look similar, but also because plumage varies drastically depending on the age of a bird. To think that a juvenile and adult herring gull are related is to suspend disbelief in earnest."

"The francolin's voice is the glory of the fields."

"Of course the vary a good deal. John’s, for instance, had a lagoon with flamingoes flying over it at which John was shooting, while Michael, who was very small, had a flamingo with lagoons flying over it."

"How fleeting are all human passions compared with the massive continuity of ducks."

"The voice of the duck is the glory of the marshes."

"Cormorants are hated. In one popular anti-cormorant treatise, the bird is blamed for its very existence: “A war is being waged between the interests of sport fishermen and a predatory bird that has no local natural enemy. The bird’s sole purpose is to reproduce and eat fish.” Of course, obtaining food and reproducing are two primary goals of any species, including our own."

"Bird of the amber beak, Bird of the golden wing! Thy dower is thy carolling; Thou hast not far to seek Thy bread, nor needest wine To make thy utterance divine; Thou art canopied and clothed And unto Song betrothed."

"Sing away, ay, sing away, Merry little bird Always gayest of the gay, Though a woodland roundelay You ne'er sung nor heard; Though your life from youth to age Passes in a narrow cage."

"Thou should'st be carolling thy Maker's praise, Poor bird! now fetter'd, and here set to draw, With graceless toil of beak and added claw, The meagre food that scarce thy want allays! And this—to gratify the gloating gaze Of fools, who value Nature not a straw, But know to prize the infraction of her law And hard perversion of her creatures' ways! Thee the wild woods await, in leaves attired, Where notes of liquid utterance should engage Thy bill, that now with pain scant forage earns."

"Many condors were simply shot. No, they weren’t edible. No, their feathers weren’t prized adornments for ladies’ headgear. Despite their size, they posed no threat to humans or livestock. Yet there are nearly two hundred documented cases of condors that were killed for no better reason than to satisfy somebody’s perverted vanity."

"Those golden birds that, in the spice-time, drop About the gardens, drunk with that sweet food Whose scent hath lur'd them o'er the summer flood; And those that under Araby's soft sun Build their high nests of budding cinnamon."

"Great albatross!—the meanest birds Spring up and flit away, While thou must toil to gain a flight, And spread those pinions grey; But when they once are fairly poised, Far o'er each chirping thing Thou sailest wide to other lands, E'en sleeping on the wing."

"And a good south wind sprung up behind, The Albatross did follow, And every day, for food or play, Came to the mariner's hollo! ... "God save thee, ancient Mariner! From the fiends that plague thee thus!— Why look'st thou so?"—With my cross-bow I shot the ."

"Yr wylan deg ar lanw dioer Unlliw ag eiry neu wenlloer, Dilwch yw dy degwch di, Darn fel haul, dyrnfol, heli."

"Up and down! Up and down! From the base of the wave to the billow's crown; And amidst the flashing and feathery foam The Stormy Petrel finds a home,— A home, if such a place may be, For her who lives on the wide, wide sea, On the craggy ice, in the frozen air, And only seeketh her rocky lair To warm her young and to teach them spring At once o'er the waves on their stormy wing!"

"How joyously the young sea-mew Lay dreaming on the waters blue, Whereon our little bark had thrown A forward shade — the only one — (But shadows aye will man pursue!)"

"The bird That glads the night had cheer'd the listening groves with sweet complainings."

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

"Every bird that upwards swings Bears the Cross upon its wings."

"Birdes of a feather will flocke togither."

"That which prevents disagreeable flies from feeding on your repast, was once the proud tail of a splendid bird."

"I was always a lover of soft-winged things."

"I believe in birds. I believe in their beauty, in their wisdom. I love the way they take me out of myself and enable me to live anew. I marvel at their capacity for flight, their sense of direction, their straightforward life, stripped down to the basics: eat, choose a mate, breed, protect. I gather that they don't think too much. They don't have writer’s block. They don't sit around wondering what project to take on next; they don't worry about authenticity or presenting their best selves on social media. I love birds because their lives are nothing like mine, because my anxieties would not only seem inane to them but would register as a foreign language."

"And here is where nature mocks you absolutely. Birds don't work on your schedule. They don't care an iota for your plans or your desires. The ridicule your fantasy that you are in control of what it is you see. They appear when they want to and disappear accordingly."

"That thought alone made me seek solace in chasing birds, because the one calming thing about being in their presence is the knowledge that my existence, to them, is entirely immaterial. The last thing birds care about is self-justification; they don't even notice me."

"There are people who love birds so much they free them. There are others who love them so much they cage them."

"Between two seas the sea-bird's wing makes halt, Wind-weary; while with lifting head he waits For breath to reinspire him from the gates That open still toward sunrise on the vault High-domed of morning."

"Birds teach us that borders are just lines drawn on a map—a lesson we can all take to heart."

"The worlds most frequent flyers don't have platinum status, free upgrades, or even passports. Every hour, millions of these undocumented immigrants pour across major political borders, and nobody thinks of building walls to keep them out. It would be impossible to anyway. Birds are true global citizens, free to come and go as they please."

"That byrd ys nat honest That fylythe hys owne nest."

"Well I wish I could be like a bird in the sky/How sweet it would be/If I found I could fly/I'd soar to the sun/And look down at the sea/And I sing 'cause I know/How it feels to be free"

"A little bird told me."

"In all of nature, there is no greater spectacle than the fall migration of birds."

"Hear how the birds, on ev'ry blooming spray, With joyous musick wake the dawning day!"

"The bird is my neighbour, a whimsical fellow and dim; There is in the lake a nobility falling on him. The bird is a noble, he turns to the sky for a theme, And the ripples are thoughts coming out to the edge of a dream. The bird is both ancient and excellent, sober and wise, But he never could spend all the love that is sent for his eyes. He bleats no instruction, he is not an arrogant drummer; His gown is simplicity - blue as the smoke of the summer. How patient he is as he puts out his wings for the blue! His eyes are as old as the twilight, and calm as the dew. The bird is my neighbour, he leaves not a claim for a sigh, He moves as the guest of the sunlight - he roams in the sky. The bird is a noble, he turns to the sky for a theme, And the ripples are thoughts coming out to the edge of a dream."

"Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?"

"Do you ne'er think what wondrous beings these? Do you ne'er think who made them, and who taught The dialect they speak, where melodies Alone are the interpreters of thought? Whose household words are songs in many keys, Sweeter than instrument of man e'er caught!"

"Rara avis in terris, nigroque simillima cygno."

"Better one byrde in hand than ten in the wood."

"When the swallows homeward fly, When the roses scattered lie, When from neither hill or dale, Chants the silvery nightingale: In these words my bleeding heart Would to thee its grief impart; When I thus thy image lose Can I, ah! can I, e'er know repose?"

"A feather in hand is better than a bird in the air."

"The nightingale has a lyre of gold, The lark's is a clarion call, And the blackbird plays but a box-wood flute, But I love him best of all. For his song is all the joy of life, And we in the mad spring weather, We two have listened till he sang, Our hearts and lips together."

"Mayr became a mentor for many promising young men with an interest in birds. He urged them to pick a bird, to follow and study it, to learn the secrets of its breeding life, its winter habits, to take in small details that no one else knew because no one else had ever watched so closely. Mayr argued against a stream of ornithologists who hoped to make the science entirely academic, feeling that serious amateurs could make valuable contributions to the field of ornithology if they watched birds seriously and well."

"To warm their little loves the birds complain."

"A bird of the air shall carry the voice, and that which hath wings shall tell the matter."

"Bird on the horizon, sittin' on a fence He's singin' his song for me at his own expense And I'm just like that bird, oh, oh Singin' just for you"

"Dame naturis menstralis."

"Thou little bird, thou dweller by the sea, Why takest thou its melancholy voice, And with that boding cry Along the waves dost thou fly? Oh! rather, bird, with me Through this fair land rejoice!"