Words like 'unputdownable' and 'irresistible' are simply not enough for Cat Winters's In the Shadow of Blackbirds. Days after finishing this story,… — Lauren DeStefano Copy Share Image
The bowed head, the buried face. She is silent, she will never speak, never forgive, never reach a hand, never leave this… — John Fowles Copy Share Image
In New England they once thought blackbirds useless, and mischievous to the corn. They made efforts to destroy them. The consequence was,… — Benjamin Franklin Copy Share Image
Only nature has a right to grieve perpetually, for she only is innocent. Soon the ice will melt, and the blackbirds sing… — Henry David Thoreau Copy Share Image
O'er hill and field October's glories fade; O'er hill and field the blackbirds southward fly; The brown leaves rustle down the forest… — George Arnold Copy Share Image
Why do I write historical fiction? Johnny Tremain, The Witch of Blackbird Pond, Island of the Blue Dolphins-that's why. I'll never forget… — Jennifer Armstrong Copy Share Image
When on a summer's morn I wake, And open my two eyes, Out to the clear, born-singing rills My bird-like spirit flies.… — W. H. Davies Copy Share Image
And let them pass, as they will too soon, With the bean-flowers' boon, And the blackbird's tune, And May, and June! — Robert Browning Copy Share Image
The world has different owners at sunrise... Even your own garden does not belong to you. Rabbits and blackbirds have the lawns;… — Anne Morrow Lindbergh Copy Share Image
Again the blackbirds sings; the streams Wake, laughing, from their winter dreams, And tremble in the April showers The tassels of the… — John Greenleaf Whittier Copy Share Image
"The birds can fly, an' why can't I? Must we give in," says he, with a grin, "'T the blackbird an' phoebe… — John Townsend Trowbridge Copy Share Image
the breed is more than the pasture. As you know, the cuckoo lays her eggs in any bird's nest; it may be… — Amelia Barr Copy Share Image
Many books belong to sunshine, and should be read out of doors. Clover, violets, and hedge roses breathe from their leaves; they… — Robert Aris Willmott Copy Share Image
It was evening all afternoon. It was snowing And it was going to snow. The blackbird sat In the cedar-limbs. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
We waste days like mad blackbirds and pray for alcoholic nightsour silk-sick human smiles wrap around us like somebody else's confetti — Charles Bukowski Copy Share Image
