Quote by Dave Smith

“Every gray day swells in around you, gold bird. Sinister as the copperhead in thick russet pinestraw, that held-back surge of piled up desire. I think my hands were born to touch and weave with air your intricate dips, veers, blinks always take.” quote by Dave Smith — Download Open image

““Every gray day swells in around you, gold bird. Sinister as the copperhead in thick russet pinestraw, that held-back surge of piled up desire. I think my hands were born to touch and weave with air your intricate dips, veers, blinks always take.””

Dave Smith

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ 2.2 out of 5 (5 ratings)

Related quotes

“and birds in the hand such an irritating way of pecking your fingers, shitting in your palm, and then flying away.”

Stephen King

Image

“One evening he was in his room, his brow pressing hard against the pane, looking, without seeing them, at the chestnut trees in the park, which had lost much of their russet-coloured foliage. A heavy mist obscured the distance, and the night was falling grey rather than black, stepping cautiously with its velvet feet upon the tops of the trees.…

Théophile Gautier

“A bird in the hand loses its mystery in no time flat.”

Barbara Kingsolver

Image

“Outside, I shivered in a landscape of greys and silvers, the stone walls and cobbles looming pale in the wintry air. The only true color was an amber penumbra shimmering around the moon. Beyond the silvered slope of overgrown lawn, the mass of black trees moved to and fro in the breeze, with a…” quote by Martine Bailey

“Outside, I shivered in a landscape of greys and silvers, the stone walls and cobbles looming pale in the wintry air. The only true…

Martine Bailey

Image

“When you walk along a wooded path In the nature my heart held so dear, Remember the joy that it gave me And know that I’ll always be near. When a robin announces his presence Singing solo as day becomes new The doe lifts her head to listen As her fawn drinks the freshness of dew. When an otter…” quote by Kris Nelson

“When you walk along a wooded path In the nature my heart held so dear, Remember the joy that it gave me And know…

Kris Nelson

Image

“When the windows like the jackal’s eye and desire pierce the dawn, silken windlasses lift me up to suburban footbridges. I summon a girl who is dreaming in the little gilded house; she meets me on the piles of black moss and offers me her lips which are stones in the rapid river depths. Veiled forebodings descend the buildings’ steps.…

André Breton

“likeness of a bird of prey. She’s terrible and wonderful to look at, with soft, bronze wings that grow from the bottom of her arms and reach down to the ground. I wonder if they ever get tired from such a weight. Instead of hands, she’s got long, red talons. When she sets her hands at her sides and paces…

Zoraida Córdova

“So quiet. So safe. I peer out into the distance, past the garden where the twins were playing, past the Gaffneys’ farmland and estate, past the sprawling wilderness, to the mountains beyond—mountains that loom in the distance and cast dark shadows over everything as the sun sets behind them. And…” quote by Laurie Forest

“So quiet. So safe. I peer out into the distance, past the garden where the twins were playing, past the Gaffneys’ farmland and estate,…

Laurie Forest

Image

“the large black birds swirling and dispersing over”

Joan London

Image

“The slate black sky. The middle step of the back porch. And long ago my mother's necklace, the beads rolling north and south. Broken the rose stem, water into drops, glass knob on the bedroom door. Last summer's pot of parsley and mint, white roots shooting like streamers through the cracks. Years…” quote by Dorianne Laux

“The slate black sky. The middle step of the back porch. And long ago my mother's necklace, the beads rolling north and south. Broken…

Dorianne Laux

Image

“Any hawk looking down on the orchard's cloistered square, hoping for the titbit of a beetle or a mouse, would see a patterned canopy of trees, line on line, the orchard's melancholy solitude, the jewellery of leaves. It would see the backs of horses, the russet, apple-dotted grass, the saltire of two crossing paths worn smooth by centuries of feet,…

Jim Crace

“was awakened abruptly just after dawn by a tiny stinging sensation on top of my head. I blinked and put up a hand to investigate. The movement startled a large gray jay who had been pulling hairs out of my head, and he shot up into a nearby pine tree, screeching hysterically. “Serve you right, mate,” I muttered, rubbing the…

Diana Gabaldon