Larks Quotes

There's a beauty in birds on the wing,
That stirs the heart and makes earthbound creatures
Long for flight, but the larks above the battlefield
Are silenced by the sounds of war.
I have watched birds out at sea,
Catching the wind,
And longed to follow them,
To some safe place far from here. ~ Charles Todd

How many things by season season'd are, To their right praise and true perfection! ~ William Shakespeare

The embrace of present and past time, in which English antiquarianism becomes a form of alchemy, engenders a strange timelessness. It is as if the little bird which flew through the Anglo-Saxon banqueting hall, in Bede's Historia Ecclesiastica Gentis Anglorum, gained the outer air and became the lark ascending in Vaughan Williams's orchestral setting. The unbroken chain is that of English music itself. ~ Peter Ackroyd

Crowds of bees are giddy with clover
Crowds of grasshoppers skip at our feet,
Crowds of larks at their matins hang over,
Thanking the Lord for a life so sweet. ~ Jean Ingelow

Oh, stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay, Nor quit for me the trembling spray, A hapless lover courts thy lay, Thy soothing, fond complaining. ~ Robert Burns

The nightingale has a lyre of gold, The lark's is a clarion call, And the blackbird plays but a boxwood flute, But I love him best of all. For his song is all the joy of life, And we in the mad spring weather, We two have listened till he sang Our hearts and lips together. ~ William Ernest Henley

He saw the delicate blades of grass which the bodies of his comrades had fertilized; he saw the little shoots on the shell-shocked trees. He saw the smoke-puffs of shrapnel being blown about by light breezes. He saw birds making love in the wire that a short while before had been ringing with flying metal. He heard the pleasant sounds of larks up there, near the zenith of the trajectories. He smiled a little. There was something profoundly saddening about it. It all seemed so fragile and so absurd. ~ Humphrey Cobb

I walk where once the grass was green And mourn the lark that sings no more What bird could sing whose eyes have seen Broken blossoms on the field of war? ~ Tom Springfield

When April bends above me
And finds me fast asleep,
Dust need not keep the secret
A live heart died to keep.

When April tells the thrushes,
The meadow-larks will know,
And pipe the three words lightly
To all the wind that blow.

Above his roof the swallows,
In notes like far-blown rain,
Will tell the chirping sparrow
Beside his window-pane.

O sparrow, little sparrow,
When I am fast asleep,
Then tell my love the secret
That I have died to keep. ~ Sara Teasdale

The years passed like the steps of a staircase leading lower and lower. I did not walk any more in the sun or hear the songs of larks like crystal fountains playing against the sky. No hand enfolded mine in the warm clasp of love. My thoughts were again solitary, disintegrate, disharmonious – the music gone. I lived alone in a few pleasant rooms, feeling my life run out aimlessly with the tedious hours: the life of an old maid ran out of my fingertips. ~ Anna Kavan

To hear the lark begin his flight, And singing startle the dull Night, From his watch-tower in the skies, Till the dappled dawn doth rise. ~ John Milton

A springful of larks in a rolling Cloud and the roadside bushes brimming with whistling Blackbirds and the sun of October Summery On the hill's shoulder. ~ Dylan Thomas

Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone. ~ Shirley Jackson

The owl goes not into the nest of the lark. ~ Victor Hugo

Raising people is not some lark. It's serious work with serious repercussions. It's air-traffic control. You can't step out for a minute; you can barely pause to scratch your ankle. ~ Kelly Corrigan

While their moral standards for the rest of the world were rigid, they were always able to find excuses for their own shortcomings. It is these people really, said my father, small-time hypocrites, who may in special cases be capable of monstrous acts if given the chance. The Larks, in fact, were shrill opponents of abortion. Yet at the ~ Louise Erdrich

Heine commenting on the music of Louis Hector Berlioz: He is an immense nightingale, a lark as great as an eagle ... The music causes me to dream of fabulous empires, filled with fabulous sins. ~ Hector Berlioz

And now the old story has begun to write itself over there," said Carl softly. "Isn't it queer: there are only two or three human stories, and they go on repeating themselves as fiercely as if they had never happened before; like the larks in this country, that have been singing the same five notes for thousands of years. ~ Willa Cather

Where would the would-be "purists" draw the line between native and alien elements? This whole planet was altered by the hand of man.
A birder who scorned the alien Sky Larks might stand on San Juan and salute the native eagles . . . but some of those eagles had been released here; and they were living on an unnaturally high population of rabbits, from another continent, introduced here. The rabbits, in turn, were probably feeding on alien plants from other lands that were naturalized here - if the San Juan roadsides were anything like all the other roadsides in North America. And we birders of European descent were introduced here also, a few generations back. Even my Native American friends of the night before could claim to be "native" in only a relative sense; their ancestors had come across the Bering land bridge from Asia. None of us is native here. ~ Kenn Kaufman

I'm very crafty! One time I made a television set out of a cardboard box - Everybody thought it was a lark! This was the beginning of a love affair with the arts. ~ Emma Watson

What: is the jay more precious than the lark because his feathers are more beautiful? ~ William Shakespeare

When you walk through the storm, hold your head high And don't be afraid of the dark! At the end of the storm is a golden sky And the sweet song of the lark. Walk on through the wind Walk on through the rain Though your dreams be tossed & blown Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart And you'll never walk alone! ~ Douglas Adams

My biggest accomplishment was playing 'Lark' on the daytime drama Port Charles because it was the most regular acting job I have had, and I had to step in and fill someone else's shoes. ~ Amy Weber

From the day I met her at the wedding rehearsal, I couldn't stop thinking of her beautiful face. I was forever drawing her, sketching her, and even tattooing her. How many people in Ellsberg were walking around with tattoos of Lark's face? Whenever a client didn't bring a specific image in and a woman's face was involved, I used Lark's. Hell, I hadn't even noticed this fact until two happy clients showed off their tattoos and I realized the pinup girl and fairy princess had the same face. ~ Bijou Hunter

The little and the great are joined in one By God's great force. The wondrous golden sun Is linked unto the glow-worm's tiny spark; The eagle soars to heaven in his flight; And in those realms of space, all bathed in light, Soar none except the eagle and the lark. ~ Emma Lazarus

Or maybe they were just doing it for fun. A lark. Their religion is tolerant of extreme forms of recreation. Boys will be boys, after all, and sociopathic boys will be sociopathic. ~ Dean Koontz

Cor, love a duck. And also Lawks-a-mercy. I said that inwardly, but outwardly I said, Blimey, and also, what larks. ~ Louise Rennison

I have had more than half a century of such happiness. A great deal of worry and sorrow, too, but never a worry or a sorrow that was not offset by a purple iris, a lark, a bluebird, or a dewy morning glory. ~ Mary McLeod Bethune

Life has rules, Val thought. And you cannot come in the middle of the night and take what we agreed isn't yours. ~ Suanne Laqueur

Teenagers travel in droves, packs, swarms ... To the librarian, they're a gaggle of geese. To the cook, they're a scourge of locusts. To department stores, they're a big beautiful exaltation of larks ... all lovely and loose and jingly. ~ Bernice Fitz-Gibbon

You are the mountain, you are the rock
You are the cord and you're the spark
You are the eagle, you are the lark
You are the world and you're remarkable
You're the ocean eating the shore
You are the calm inside the storm
You're every emotion, you can endure
You are the world and the world is yours.
((The World as I See It)) ~ Jason Mraz

It is an effort to descend down the hand-holds of memory to the plain beneath, to recall the lost future, the dusk hovering above the sunken cities, the dim western world of fallen light and broken skies. My life is here, where soon the larks will sing again, and there is a hawk above. One wishes only to go forward, deeper into the summer land, journeying from lark-song to lark-song, passing through the dark realm of the owls, the fox-holdings, the badger-shires, out into the brilliant winter dominion, the sea-bleak world of the hawks. ~ J.A. Baker

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn saw sunset glow
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields
Take up our quarrel with the foe;
To you, from falling hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields. ~ John McCrae

The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below ~ John McCrae

New Yorkers weren't rude so much as tense. If I went into a tobacconist and started with my public school patter, "I'm so sorry to bother you but I'd rather care to buy some cigarettes, so if you'd be so good as to allow me to intrude upon your time …," they'd shout "Whaddyawant?" as though you'd insulted them. But if you strode into the store, fixed them with a look of pure hatred and hissed the word "Larks!," they'd smile and chat and tell you why they'd just left their wife. ~ John Cleese

But you the pathways of the sky Found first, and tasted heavenly springs, Unfettered as the lark that sings, And knew strange raptures, - though we sigh, "Poor Iccarus!" ~ Florence Earle Coates

His name was Aaron and he was the answer to all my prayers. ~ Bijou Hunter

Why was the human race created? Or at least why wasn't something creditable created in place of it? God had His opportunity. He could have made a reputation. But no, He must commit this grotesque folly - a lark which must have cost Him a regret or two when He came to think it over and observe effects. ~ Mark Twain

Some say that ever 'gainst the season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long: And then, they say, no spirit can walk abroad; The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor wi ~ William Shakespeare

Triumphant hours are the Lark's
Who circles skywards from his home each day:
World's early riser, with bubbling golden song,
Towards the firmament, guardian of April's gate. ~ Dafydd Ap Gwilym

Sandry: "There has to be something we can do."
Lark: "We're mages. We do what we can, but some problems are too big to fix."
Sandry: "Then I wish I weren't a mage. What good is magic, if you can't use it to help people. ~ Tamora Pierce

I did not think I should be ever loved: do you indeed
Love me so much as now you say you do?
Ask of the sea-bird if it loves the sea,
Ask of the roses if they love the rain,
Ask of the little lark, that will not sing
Till day break, if it loves to see the day:
And yet, these are but empty images,
Mere shadows of my love, which is a fire
So great that all the waters of the main
Can not avail to quench it. ~ Oscar Wilde

Let your trouble be Light will follow dark Though the heaven falls You may hear the lark. ~ Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

Dumb luck brought on the move from business to acting. I had moved to New York when I was 23, in the year 2000. On a lark, I went to audition for a soap opera. I thought, 'Hey, this will be a really fun story to tell my grandkids one day, that I auditioned for a soap!' ~ Teddy Sears

At length, one lovely morning, when the green corn lay soaking in the yellow sunlight, and the sky rose above the earth deep and pure and tender like the thought of God about it, Alec became suddenly aware that life was good, and the world beautiful . . . One of God's lyric prophets, the larks, was within earshot, pouring down a vocal summer of jubilant melody. The lark thought nobody was listening but his wife; but God heard in heaven, and the young prodigal heard on the earth. ~ George MacDonald

Now we see again, under the blue heavens where the larks are singing in the hot April sky, why the Romans called the Etruscans vicious. Even in their palmy days the Romans were not exactly saints. But they thought they ought to be. They hated the phallus and the ark, because they wanted empire and dominion and, above all, riches: social gain. You cannot dance gaily to the double flute and at the same time conquer nations or rake in large sums of money. Delenda est Carthago. To the greedy man, everybody that is in the way of its greed is vice incarnate. ~ D.H. Lawrence

SHORE-LARK
During the week, the shore-lark works in the City and flies home every night with its mate in Wimbledon, where it is a model husband and father. At weekends, however, it migrates briefly on Brighton, on any of one hundred pretexts, where is meets female shore-larks under the pier and seeks to recapture its lost youth. ~ Alan Coren

The music soars within the little lark, And the lark soars. ~ Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Oft, as in airy rings they skim the heath, The clamtrous lapwings feel the leaden death; Oft, as the mounting larks their notes prepare They fall, and leave their little lives in air. ~ Alexander Pope

Aaron loved to walk around shirtless and I overwhelmingly approved of his choice. Having seen the gym in one of the house's tiny bedrooms, I understood how he kept so ripped. Every time he caught me admiring the view, I pretended to be looking at his tats. He wasn't fooled. ~ Bijou Hunter

Dost thou love hawking? Thou hast hawks will soar Above the morning lark. ~ William Shakespeare

Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour Have passed away; less happy than the one That by the unwilling ploughshare died to prove The tender charm of poetry and love. ~ William Wordsworth

Love without hope, as when the young bird-catcher
Swept off his tall hat to the Squire's own daughter,
So let the imprisoned larks escape and fly
Singing about her head, as she rode by. ~ Robert Graves

Jayne Anne Phillips ... is at the height of her powers in Lark and Termite ... This is a major novel from one of America's finest writers. ~ Robert Olen Butler

So be my passing! My task accomplished and the long day done, My wages taken, and in my heart Some late lark singing, Let me be gathered in the quiet west, The sundown splendid and serene, Death. ~ William Ernest Henley

Larks report being most alert around noon and feel most productive at work a few hours before they eat lunch. They don't need an alarm clock, because they invariably get up before the alarm rings - often before 6:00 a.m. Larks cheerfully report their favorite mealtime as breakfast and generally consume much less coffee than non-larks. Getting increasingly drowsy in the early evening, most larks go to bed (or want to go to bed) around 9:00 p.m. ~ John Medina

If the skies fall, one may hope to catch larks. ~ Francois Rabelais

He had seen it often, from the verandah of his uncle's farmhouse, or at the end of a long street, but till now he had never heard it. The hollowing hum of telephone wires along the road, the ring of hidden crickets, the stitching sound of grasshoppers, the sudden relief of a meadow lark's song, were deliciously strange to him. ~ W. O. Mitchell

Come, let us drink the last raindrop tears from a narcissus cup and fill our souls with the songs of larks. ~ Kahlil Gibran

When You Return

Fallen leaves will climb back into trees.
Shards of the shattered vase will rise
and reassemble on the table.
Plastic raincoats will refold
into their flat envelopes. The egg,
bald yolk and its transparent halo,
slide back in the thin, calcium shell.
Curses will pour back into mouths,
letters un-write themselves, words
siphoned up into the pen. My gray hair
will darken and become the feathers
of a black swan. Bullets will snap
back into their chambers, the powder
tamped tight in brass casings. Borders
will disappear from maps. Rust
revert to oxygen and time. The fire
return to the log, the log to the tree,
the white root curled up
in the un-split seed. Birdsong will fly
into the lark's lungs, answers
become questions again.
When you return, sweaters will unravel
and wool grow on the sheep.
Rock will go home to mountain, gold
to vein. Wine crushed into the grape,
oil pressed into the olive. Silk reeled in
to the spider's belly. Night moths
tucked close into cocoons, ink drained
from the indigo tattoo. Diamonds
will be returned to coal, coal
to rotting ferns, rain to clouds, light
to stars sucked back and back
into one timeless point, the way it was
before the world was born,
that fresh, that whole, nothing
broken, nothing torn apart. ~ Ellen Bass

In college, I took an acting class as a lark. I was surprised by how much it interested me. It seemed like something I could do my whole life and always try to get better at. ~ Ebon Moss-Bachrach

In nature everything is valuable, everything has its place. The rose, the daisy, the lark, the squirrel, each is different but beautiful. Each has its own expression. Each flower its' own fragrance. Each bird its' own song. So you too have your own unique melody. ~ Diane Dreher

Thinking is to man what flying is to birds. Don't follow the example of a chicken when you could be a lark. ~ Albert Einstein

In the blue sky overhead, larks sang like my heart. ~ Nancy Springer

Being blessed with good health gives you the strength and loving what you do and - is a privilege that keeps you going. So I'm just happy as a lark. ~ Betty White

Taking Ogen's temperature, I said, "Right on. I vote we swim it."

He whimpered. "No swim - NO SWIM!"

Death commanded him in that foreign tongue, and he shut up.

"Well, aren't you a good wittle doggie, Ogen?" I said. "You know how to sit, stay, and hush even better than Lark's wolves."

He stared, disbelieving that I'd just insulted him like that. "I am the DESECRATOR! I sit upon Lucifer's knee!"

"That makes total sense, Scooby."

With a puzzled expression, Death said, "You taunt him at your peril."

"What's he going to do? Kill me?" Over my shoulder I told Ogen, "Get in line, dick. ~ Kresley Cole

A late lark twitters from the quiet skies. ~ William Ernest Henley

Jav's face was numb. Fingertips ice cold. His shirt stuck to his back with sweat and every square inch o"f skin prickled and tingled. He could feel his heart breaking down, dropping off piece by piece into the rolling boil of his stomach. Every splash sending up clouds of toxic steam, choking his throat. He was sure the next words out would be inside a scream. Instead he heard a strong, calm voice - a seasoned captain taking over the helm.
"I'm with you," Jav said. "Fucking take their ship down. I'm here. Right until the end, I won't leave."

Excerpt From: Suanne Laqueur. "An Exaltation of Larks." iBooks. ~ Suanne Laqueur

There were no larks anymore. There was only the setting sun spreading blood up the sky and the yowl of hounds on a breast-high scent. ~ Sam Llewellyn

Housework is a breeze. Cooking is a pleasant diversion. Putting up a retaining wall is a lark. But teaching is like climbing a mountain. ~ Fawn M. Brodie

Happy is the man who can with vigorous wing Mount to those luminous serene fields! The man whose thoughts, like larks, Take liberated flight toward the morning skies
Who hovers over life and understands without effort The language of flowers and voiceless things! ~ Charles Baudelaire

Poem in October"

It was my thirtieth year to heaven
Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood
And the mussel pooled and the heron
Priested shore
The morning beckon
With water praying and call of seagull and rook
And the knock of sailing boats on the net webbed wall
Myself to set foot
That second
In the still sleeping town and set forth.

My birthday began with the water-
Birds and the birds of the winged trees flying my name
Above the farms and the white horses
And I rose
In rainy autumn
And walked abroad in a shower of all my days.
High tide and the heron dived when I took the road
Over the border
And the gates
Of the town closed as the town awoke.

A springful of larks in a rolling
Cloud and the roadside bushes brimming with whistling
Blackbirds and the sun of October
Summery
On the hill's shoulder,
Here were fond climates and sweet singers suddenly
Come in the morning where I wandered and listened
To the rain wringing
Wind blow cold
In the wood faraway under me.

Pale rain over the dwindling harbour
And over the sea wet church the size of a snail
With its horns through mist and the castle
Brown as owls
But all the gardens
Of spring and summer were blooming in the tall tales
Beyond the border and under the lark full cloud.
There could ~ Dylan Thomas

Ascend beyond the sickly atmosphere
to a higher plane, and purify yourself
by drinking as if it were ambrosia
the fire that fills and fuels Emptiness.
Free from the futile strivings and the cares
which dim existence to a realm of mist,
happy is he who wings an upward way
on mighty pinions to the fields of light;
whose thoughts like larks spontaneously rise
into the morning sky; whose flight, unchecked,
outreaches life and readily comprehends
the language of flowers and of all mute things. ~ Charles Baudelaire

Morning larks called to one another from the shallows at the river's edge, and the sky began to silver behind the friar like a halo. ~ Julie Berry