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Birds themselves are so interesting and intelligent, and they give so many cues without being verbal, so they say such great things. Feathers are superior to fur, even. They're so beautiful, and nature uses such amazing colors.

Pigeons are gentle and smart and have complex social relationships. Their hearing and vision are both excellent.

The very idea of a bird is a symbol and a suggestion to the poet. A bird seems to be at the top of the scale, so vehement and intense is his life, large-brained, large-lunged, hot, ecstatic, his frame charged with buoyancy and his heart with song.

You have to accept the fact that sometimes you are the pigeon, and sometimes you are the statue.

I love the pigeons. I just raise them, period, and feed them. Pigeons go away, and they always come back. You get a touch of freedom, and then they are free to come back to you. I love the idea of pigeons.

Each week, I post a video about some 'Pigeon of Discontent' raised by a reader. Because, as much as we try to find the 'Bluebird of Happiness,' we're also plagued by those small but pesky 'Pigeons of Discontent.'

As far as what I do love, I love birds; I love lavender.

Birds have wings; they're free; they can fly where they want when they want. They have the kind of mobility many people envy.

It is not only fine feathers that make fine birds.

The closer the bird is to the surface of the water, the firmer and more inelastic is the uplift of the rising air. The bird appears to almost feel the surface with the tip of its weather wing.