White Hawk Quotes & Sayings

And suddenly, in the place of the woman-shape made of shadow, there was something else. Something huge, something ugly. Linay flung up both hands. The thing screamed like a hawk and opened to wings: one white as a death cap, one clotted in shadow. The wings came together and the whole pond shuddered.
Something hit Kate's ear and shoulder and smashed to the deck by her feet. It was a swallow, dead. She could hear them falling all over the pond. — Erin Bow

If I have seen a little further it is by standing on the shoulders of giants.
- From a letter to Robert Hooke dated February 5th, 1676.
The metaphor was first recorded in 1159 by John of Salisbury and attributed to Bernard of Chartres:
Dicebat Bernardus Carnotensis nos esse quasi nanos, gigantium humeris insidentes, ut possimus plura eis et remotiora videre, non utique proprii visus acumine, aut eminentia corporis, sed quia in altum subvenimur et extollimur magnitudine gigantea. — Isaac Newton

The facts speak only when the historian calls on them: it is he who decides to which facts to give the floor, and in what order or context — Edward Hallett Carr

When Cath's eyes closed, her eyelids stuck. She wanted to open them. She wanted to get a better look at Levi's too-dark eyebrows, she wanted to admire his crazy, vampire hairline
she had a feeling this was never going to happen again and that it might even ruin what was left of her life, so she wanted to open her eyes and bear some witness. — Rainbow Rowell

My boy, you shall be everything in the world, animal, vegetable, mineral, protista, or virus, for all I care-before I have done with you-but you will have to trust my superior backsight. The time is not yet ripe for you to be a hawk ... so you may as well sit down for the moment and learn to be a human being. — T.H. White

Mick had once come across one of Wilson't books and was surprised to see his face on the back cover. Mick was even more surprised when he read the book. It was pretty good, although Mick was kind of tired of hearing about Indians. Still, Mick thought, Aristotle Little Hawk was a good Indian, even if he was just some character in a book. He wished more Indians like Little Hawk hung out in the bar. He knew Wilson claimed he had some Indian blood, said so inside the book. But Mick did not buy that shit. Mick's great-grandmother was a little bit Indian, but that did not make him Indian. Besides, who the hell would want to be Indian when you could just as easily be white? — Sherman Alexie

We have first raised a dust and then complain we cannot see. — George Berkeley

There was a basic harmony between Antonia and her mistress [Mrs. Harling]. They had strong, independent natures, both of them. They knew what they liked, and were not always trying to imitate other people. They loved children and animals and music, and rough play, and digging in the earth. They liked to prepare rich, hearty food and to see people eat it; to make up soft white beds and to see youngsters asleep in them. They ridiculed conceited people and were quick to help unfortunate ones. Deep down in each of them there was a kind of hearty joviality, a relish of life, not over-delicate, but very invigorating. I never tried to define it, but I was distinctly conscious of it. I could not imagine Antonia's living for a week in any other house in Black Hawk than the Harlings. — Willa Cather

I liked working with Tom Christopher as he was great as Hawk, and Wilfred Hyde White but I wished it were in a different context as the changes really tuned off the audience. — Gil Gerard

A pine needle fell in the forest. The hawk saw it. The deer heard it. The white bear smelled it — Edith Pattou

She's got so many azalea bushes, her yard's going to look like Gone With the Wind come spring. I don't like azaleas and I sure didn't like that movie, the way they made slavery look like a big happy tea party. If I'd played Mammy, I'd of told Scarlett to stick those green draperies up her white little pooper. Maker her own damn man-catching dress. — Kathryn Stockett

Bad and cruel as our people were treated by the whites, not one of them
was hurt or molested by our band. ( ... )
The whites were complaining at the same time that we were intruding upon
their rights. They made it appear that they were the injured party, and
we the intruders. They called loudly to the great war chief to protect
their property.
How smooth must be the language of the whites, when they can make right
look like wrong, and wrong like right. — Black Hawk

Indians and animals know better how to live than white man; nobody can be in good health if he does not have all the time fresh air, sunshine, and good water. — Flying Hawk

He laughs and pulls out a big Ziploc bag of something dark and round. Cookies!
I lunge forward. "Are these - ?"
"Chocolate with peanut butter chips," he finishes for me.
I keep staring at his lips, but I slide open the baggie. "I love these! My mom always made these."
"I know."
"How do you know?"
"You told me once."
He sits down with me and before I can get too heart fluttery he pulls out a cookie and lifts it toward my mouth, teasing me. "Do you want it?"
I open my lips. He slides the cookie in a little bit. I chomp down. It melts on my tongue. "It is sooo good. — Carrie Jones

The power of love is a curious thing, make one man weep, make another man sing. Change a hawk to a little white dove, more than a feeling, that's the power of love. — Huey Lewis

REST IN PEACE, MR. PARKER.
'You want us to be surreptitious?' Hawk said.
'Surreptitious?' Sapp said.
'I educated in Head Start,' Hawk said.
'Really worked,' Sapp said.
'No reason to be covert,' I said.
'You too?' Sapp said.
'Nope,' I said. 'I'm a straight Anglo white guy of European ancestry. We're naturally smart.'
'You missed Bernard,' Sapp said.
'Tall straight Anglo white guy,' I said.
'Hey,' Bernard said.
— Robert B. Parker

Gos was still out there in the forest, the dark forest to which all things lost must go. I'd wanted to slip across the borders of this world into that wood and bring back the hawk White lost. Some part of me that was very small and old had known this, some part of me that didn't work according to the everyday rules of the world but with the logic of myths and dreams. And that part of me had hoped, too, that somewhere in that other world was my father. His death had been so sudden. there had been no time to prepare for it, no sense in it happening at all. He could only be lost. He was out there, still, somewhere out there in that tangled wood with all the rest of the lost and dead. I know now what those dreams in spring had meant, the ones of a hawk slipping through a rent in the air into another world. I'd wanted to fly with the hawk to find my father; find him and bring him home. — Helen Macdonald

I climbed a path and from the top looked up-stream towards Chile. I could see the river, glinting and sliding through the bone-white cliffs with strips of emerald cultivation either side. Away from the cliffs was the desert. There was no sound but the wind, whirring through thorns and whistling through dead grass, and no other sign of life but a hawk, and a black beetle easing over white stones. — Bruce Chatwin

It is literally true, Burke's groundbreaking arguments suggests, that if people change their words (or, more accurately, their words and their words' relationships to one another), they change their perception of reality. As they change their reality their behavior changes automatically. Instead of people using their words, they are used by their words, and this fact is unrecognized. — Dave Logan

Cosmopolitanism, ... , _speaks_ about the urgent need for and the significance of relocating our discourse on, ... , the scope and application of rights and justice for every singular human being regardless of the person's birth and belonging. — Namsoon Kang

No effort makes a black crow into a white hawk. — Idries Shah

No, not Jove
Himselfe, at one time, can be wise and love. — Robert Herrick

A white-tailed hawk still flew overhead, and it swooped low to brush its star-silvered wing against her cheek in farewell before it turned back with a sharp cry. — Sarah J. Maas

It is only when she turns to close the door that I see a tattoo on the back of her neck, a black-and-white hawk with a red eye. If I didn't feel like my heart had migrated to my throat, I would ask her what it signifies. It must signify something. — Veronica Roth

Consciousness is the awareness of the interaction and interdependence among mind, body, spirit, and the universe where it resides. — Debasish Mridha

[Black Hawk] has fought for his countrymen, the squaws and papooses, against white men, who came year after year, to cheat them and take away their lands. You know the cause of our making war. It is known to all white men. They ought to be ashamed of it. — Black Hawk

You are the most powerful cultural force in the world. — William J. Clinton

I was stuck back on "you can't have two maids of honor" and therefore fighting back hyperventilation at the same time flashing pictures filled my head of a commando-style wedding; Hawk in black cargos, me in a white flak jacket festooned with lace. The picture of me carrying a bouquet of flowers and Hawk carrying an automatic weapon. The picture of me admiring Hawk's huge-ass hunting knife. The picture of Hawk carrying me out of the reception in a fireman's hold while bullets flew and flames caused by Molotov cocktails danced on the dance floor. — Kristen Ashley

Thank fuck that's over," said Finty, rubbing at her mouth and her sweatshirt. "Let's have a game of Scrabble. — Rachel Joyce

The white men despise the Indians, and drive them from their homes. But the Indians are not deceitful. The white men speak bad of the Indian, and look at him spitefully. But the Indian does not tell lies; Indians do not steal. An Indian, who is as bad as the white men, could not live in our nation; he would be put to death, and eat up by the wolves. — Black Hawk

For a while I didn't want to look at the men and their hawks any more and my eyes slipped to the white panels of cut light in the branches behind them. Then I walked to the hedge where the hawk had made her kill. Peered inside. Deep in the muddled darkness six copper pheasant feathers glowed in a cradle of blackthorn. Reaching through the thorns I picked them free, one by one, tucked the hand that held them into my pocket, and cupped the feathers in my closed fist as if I were holding a moment tight inside itself. It was death I had seen. — Helen Macdonald

I always thought of words as art supplies. — Douglas Coupland

In my head, at least, the business of spinning stories has no closing time. Twists in my characters' lives, glimpses of their secrets, obstacles to their dreams ... all arrive unbidden when I'm getting cash at the ATM, walking my son to camp, singing a hymn at a wedding. — Julia Glass