Quotes About White Feathers

#1. In my final year at Bristol University, I wrote a play called 'White Feathers.' It was produced in the studio theatre at the students' union in early 1999, when I was 21. It's 100 pages long: a very traditional play, with an interval, about deserters in the First World War.

Laura Wade

#2. Dorothy scratched her dark head, yawning wide, and white feathers floated out of her hair.

Laurie Lee

#3. The bookcase tipped and the book covers opened like wings over an underbelly of white feathers, dirty with ink.

Anthony Marra

#4. I almost cried. But I didn't, because if you're in seventh grade and you cry while wearing a blue floral cape and yellow tights with white feathers on the butt, you just have to curl up and die somewhere in a dark alley.

Gary D. Schmidt

#5. But the only thing worse than remembering the feel of Rose in his arms, the softness of her black and white feathers, the sound of her voice when she sang quietly to herself, would be forgetting it.

Melissa Grey

#6. The grace of God reaches to the furthest extent to those who are prepared to acknowledge their need.

Alistair Begg

#7. A book, I was taught long ago in English class, is a living and breathing document that grows richer with each new reading.

Malcolm Gladwell

#8. Everything wonderful is possible.

Natalie Lloyd

#9. Good work is the only thing that would make me feel jealous or envious.

Philip Seymour Hoffman

#10. You aren't a vampire." Silver's voice mirrored his shock. She repeated the phrase with a huge smile on her face. "You aren't a vampire!"
"They don't call me Jackpot for nothing," he joked.

Kasi Blake

#11. Inevitably, however, a dude approached us. He was white. Jazz camp was mostly white dudes. This dude was clutching a gold-embossed tenor sax case, and on his head was a fedora with two different eagle feathers in it.

Jesse Andrews

#12. It is the heart which inspires eloquence.

Quintilian

#13. When Steven passed away and we moved to stay with Mama, there were white bird feathers scattered around the front yard. When Emma asked about them, Mama said they were small signs from the angels, letting us know they were always close by, watching over us.

Brittainy C. Cherry

#14. My mother made me do all the housework as a boy. I still do it, even in hotels.

Ernest Borgnine

#15. White angel wings, made up from thousands of short feathers, now surrounded him.

"Uh. Bird?" She pointed dumbly, unable to form a single coherent though more.
"Harpie." He gave her a glare that could have killed.

Constance Sharper

#16. The snow-white angel alone remains, hovering over Tara Burgess's fresh grave, holding a single black rose in one hand. She does not move, does not even bat an eyelash. Her powdered face stays frozen in sorrow. The increasing rain pulls stray feathers from her wings and pins them to the mud below.

Erin Morgenstern

#17. In nine out of ten cases the original wish to write is the wish to make oneself felt[ellipsis in source] the non-essential writer never gets past that wish.

Elizabeth Bowen

#18. I began ear training when I was about six months old. My mother was a concert pianist, and she started all of her children with music before they were a year old. Then she began to see that I had a musical gift.

Twyla Tharp

#19. She learned which herbs were valuable and which were dangerous, and which herbs were valuable because they were dangerous.

Leigh Bardugo

#20. Jonathan?" "Monica." "One day this will stop working." "But not today.

C.D. Reiss

#21. In his enigmatic and cunning story 'The Crown of Feathers,' Isaac Bashevis Singer refuses to produce uncontradictory evidence of God's will but rather mixes all signals, jams the evidence, stalls every conclusion.

Edmund White

#22. Since God created the world, He also created reality.

Pope Francis

#23. Who are you?' Mo looked at the White Women. Then he looked at Dustfinger's still face.
Guess.' The bird ruffled up its golden feathers, and Mo saw that the mark on its breast was blood.
You are Death.' Mo felt the word heavy on his tongue. Could any word be heavier?

Cornelia Funke

#24. Llium snorted. "I look like a damned duck." His words weren't far off the mark. The feathers that had grown over the injured section were soft, white, and delicately ... fluffy. "I hope to hell these baby feathers fall off and get replaced by real ones. They will, won't they?" He sounded worried.

Nalini Singh

#25. He looked at the sky and saw the white cumulus built like friendly piles of ice cream and high above were the thin feathers of the cirrus against the high September sky.

Ernest Hemingway,

#26. Julia follows the beach, the sand that is so white it makes her doubt the beaches in Heaven could possibly be any whiter, the water like peacock feathers lapping at the shore, vivid green blue going hyacinth out where the sea starts getting deep.

Caitlin R. Kiernan

#27. If I pay you lots of money to see reality in a certain way, you will.

Dan Ariely

#28. A theologian is a person who makes bold to speak about God because he speaks out of God and through God. To profess theology is to do holy work. It is a priestly ministration in the house of the Lord. It is itself a service of worship, a consecration of mind and heart to the honour of His name.

Herman Bavinck

#29. No one loved me as the moon did he was there with me in the darkness when everyone left me

Me