Caged Birds Quotes Novels & Stories

Ansif listened to her talks , watching how her face changed from happy to a sad one. "I used to adore it , it was so beautiful. I kept that bottle in a dark room so it could look beautiful in darkness. Once, when i looked for the firefly, it was not spreading light like it used to do. Then, Mumma told me it died because of me , it might have lived a little more if i let it breathe. From that day, i hate caging birds and animals . It maybe Karma that i got caged here.. " She said the last part to herself , but Ansif have heard it since their atmosphere was silent and he was listening to her intently.

Violet’s breath caught in her chest, the weight of his question pressing down on her harder than any touch. The scenary felt unbearably still, every sound, the faint hum of the wind and the cricket , the distant honks of the cars passing by, dissolving into silence. His gaze pinned her in place, steady and unyielding, as though he could see through every wall she had carefully built. She wanted to speak, to offer him the truth he deserved, yet the words tangled at the edge of her tongue like thorns. Violet realized that silence could be louder, more dangerous, than any lie.

I used to be ready for anything but inbetween living and anything, there is torture; it is a different form of death. There are bars at my window positioned with close grid spaces. It's where I look out from almost all day. That odd woman has seen me severally sitting on the bed and looking out but she says nothing. She does not seem to mind just like she doesn't mind if I stay in the dark or if I live.

Elowen snapped. “I solve it by keeping you alive,” Corvin said. Elowen stepped closer, heat rising in his chest. “Alive where? In your rooms? In your sight? Or under your command?” Corvin’s jaw tightened. “Under my protection.” Elowen shook his head. “You dress it in softer words, but it is still a cage.” Corvin’s gaze did not waver. “A cage keeps predators out.” “And traps animals inside,” Elowen shot back.

The hand writing is very familiar. “This is the only way that I can convey these words to you. The cage was still rattling but the chains were too tight to even break. A bird can only sing its song of pain inside and be barely heard as it flapped its wings in its too small and cramped cage inside the room of the princess. There are times that the bird will try to escape but would always fail, the princess was good at keeping things and making them stay. She knows how to, she has the resources to do so. And yet, even though the cries of the bird were rather quiet, the others still heard its song and came to the rescue. However, they could only do so much when the princess was around. They mus

“This discussion is over; you can leave my room now.” I felt trapped, like a bird in a gilded cage, beautiful but confined. The walls closed in around me, suffocating me with their weight. Every breath was a struggle, as if the air itself was thick and heavy, refusing to let me escape. My heart pounded against the bars of my chest, desperate to break free from the suffocating grip of reality. I longed to spread my wings and soar, but the cage door seemed locked, and the key was nowhere to be found. The feeling of being caged was overwhelming, making me restless and desperate for freedom.

said the pigeon " What ?? You are dying ...but .....but there's not even a single wound or any cut on your body .....are you hungry or thirsty ...???...or are you ill? ....tell me ...I'll help you ." said Cynthia with care for the pigeon in her eyes as she was an avid animal lover . She couldn't she didn't want to see any innocent animal or bird dying right in front of her. "No neither am I ill nor hungry or thirsty ....am dying because I have to. No medicine in this world can cure me...I have to die ..... I have to die ." Said the pigeon, his voice getting low and low with every single word he spoke.

Me and her were like Kassandra, we have a home were we belong, a home we long for. And base on her diary entries, it seems that she doesn’t knew or have any idea that the world we live in was a book. It was already a big clue, but I turn blind and didn’t bother question it. We are like the birds, trapped in their cage. A prisoner of this world. If I were a bird, I'd fly to the top of that tree, look around for a few minutes, just to say goodbye, then fly away and never see any of this again. Maybe I'd just start flying and not stop until I die of exhaustion. Just to get away from here.

He selected his favorite poem by Craig Arnold and cleared his throat to begin: Of many reasons I love you, here is one the way you write me from the gate at the airport so I can tell you everything will be alright so you can tell me there is a bird trapped in the terminal all the people ignoring it because they do not know what to do with it except to leave it alone until it scares itself to death it makes you terribly, terribly sad You wish you could take the bird outside and set it free or (failing that) call a bird-understander to come help the bird All you can do is notice the bird and feel for the bird and write to tell me how language feels impossibly useless but you are wrong You are

The bird’s flight echoed something in me, and my fingers curled by my side. I glanced at Zane. “This should be easy. Birds represent freedom,” I said, my voice light, too energetic. “It’s escaping.” “Escaping instead of dominating the cage—that doesn’t sound like freedom.” Zane’s voice cut through. “Sounds like cowardice.” I flinched, his words burning my skin, hotter than it should. Part of me wanted to argue. To tell him running away was the best form of freedom. But another told me he wouldn’t care. Just like he didn’t care about my other interpretation.