“Pain has been and grief enough and bitterness and crying,Sharp ways and stony ways I think it was she trod;But all there is to see now is a white bird flying,Whose blood-stained wings go circling high—circling up to God!”
“The way of love is not a subtle argument. The door there is devastation. Birds make great sky-circles of their freedom. How do they learn it? They fall, and falling, they're given wings.”
“Pain has a way of clipping our wings and keeping us from being able to fly.”
“Don’t forget that birds with broken wings walking on the ground were once flying high up in the sky.”
“We were like two moths around a candle, I thought, circling closer and closer to the flame, waiting to see whose wings would catch fire first.”
“She was completely alone, only the distant call of a bird telling her a world existed outside of her circle of pain.”