The birds sang in the dustin an elaborate weave, ambiguous, deafening, prey to existencepoor passions lost between the modestsummits of groves of mulberry and elder;and I, like them, in secluded placesreserved for the lost and pure, would wait for evening to fall, for the silent smells of fireand joyous misery to fill the air, for the Angelus bell to toll, veiledin the new peasant mysteryfulfilled in the ancient mystery. Pier Paolo Pasolini
The moment a little boy is concerned with which is a jay and which is a sparrow, he can no longer see the birds or hear them sing.
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Eric Berne
The reason birds can fly and we can't is simply because they have perfect faith, for to have faith is to have wings.
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J.m. Barrie
Dad?" Jesus asked." Yes, son?" God replied." Why do birds sing?" Jesus asked." Birds sing to welcome in the day and so that people can rejoice in their sweet voices, " God said." What about chickens then?" Jesus asked now." Chickens are alarm clocks, "...
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Anthony T. Hincks
Heavenly bodies are nests of invisible birds.
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Dejan Stojanovic
What is more cheerful, now, in the fall of the year, than an open-wood-fire? Do you hear those little chirps and twitters coming out of that piece of apple-wood? Those are the ghosts of the robins and blue-birds that sang upon the bough when it...
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Thomas Bailey Aldrich
More Quotes By Pier Paolo Pasolini
If you know that I am an unbeliever, then you know me better than I do myself. I may be an unbeliever, but I am an unbeliever who has a nostalgia for a belief.
The fury of confession, at first, then the fury of clarity: It was from you, Death, that such hypocriticalobscure feeling was born! And nowlet them accuse me of every passion, let them bad-mouth me, let them say I’m deformed, impure, obsessed, a dilettante, a perjurer....
Every day my anxiety is higher, every day the grief more mortal. Today more than yesterday terror exalts me…
The birds sang in the dustin an elaborate weave, ambiguous, deafening, prey to existencepoor passions lost between the modestsummits of groves of mulberry and elder;and I, like them, in secluded placesreserved for the lost and pure, would wait for evening to fall, for the silent...
We survive, in the confusionof a life reborn beyond reason.
