All was murkiness, now, the landscape and woods, and far…

O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still; Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost…

— John Milton

“Something round and dirty and white was resting near my foot. It was a skull. I picked it up. ‘Is that you, Nicholas?’ I…

— Ben Aaronovitch

Fare thee well my nightingale, I lived but to be near you. Thow you are singing somewhere still I can no longer hear you.

— Leonard Cohen

“Here was the world wide-awake and yet only for me, all the fresh pure air only for me, all the fragrance breathed only by…

— Elizabeth von Arnim

I simply couldn't walk away from [ The Nightingale].

— Megan Chance

Were I a nightingale, I would act the part of a nightingale; were I a swan, the part of a swan.

— Epictetus

In a twilight garden, when a brown nightingale starts singing, what is left to a blonde chicken is to remain silent.

— Mehmet Murat Ildan

“I looked into the literature on this," said Nightingale, "and it wasn't very helpful." "There's a literature about this?" "You'd be amazed, Constable, about…

— Ben Aaronovitch

“Her statistics were more than a study... For her, Quetelet was the hero as scientist, and the presentation copy of his Physique Sociale is…

— Karl Pearson

“Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and…

— William Wordsworth

I love women being the heroes of the piece. There is just something so dramatic and important about this story [The Nightingale ].

— Megan Chance

Everything perfect in its kind has to transcend its own kind, it must become something different and incomparable. In some notes the nightingale is…

— Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

“Sunlight of love on your lips; & the Nightingale has fallen into silence.”

— sir kristian goldmund aumann

“There are dewdrops on the nightingale's wings, bright beads of moon distilled by hope. On the marble fountain is the kiss of water, dream…

— Federico García Lorca

Who but knows How it goes! Life's a last year's Nightingale, Love's a last year's rose.

— William Ernest Henley