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1 " So at last Ilar Sant came to this wood, which people now call St. Hilary's wood because they have forgotten all about Ilar. And he was weary with his wandering, and the day was very hot; so he stayed by this well and began to drink. And there on that great stone he saw the shining fish, and so he rested, and built an altar and a church of willow boughs, and offered the sacrifice not only for the quick and the dead, but for all the wild beasts of the woods and the streams." And when this blessed Ilar rang his holy bell and began to offer, there came not only the Prince and his servants, but all the creatures of the wood. There, under the hazel boughs, you might see the hare, which flies so swiftly from men, come gently and fall down, weeping greatly on account of the Passion of the Son of Mary. And, beside the hare, the weasel and the pole-cat would lament grievously in the manner of penitent sinners; and wolves and lambs together adored the saint's hierurgy; and men have beheld tears streaming from the eyes of venomous serpents when Ilar Agios uttered 'Curiluson' with a loud voice—since the serpent is not ignorant that by its wickedness sorrow came to the whole world. And when, in the time of the holy ministry, it is necessary that frequent Alleluyas should be chanted and vociferated, the saint wondered what should be done, for as yet none in that place was skilled in the art of song. Then was a great miracle, since from all the boughs of the wood, from every bush and from every green tree, there resounded Alleluyas in enchanting and prolonged harmony; never did the Bishop of Rome listen to so sweet a singing in his church as was heard in this wood. For the nightingale and thrush and blackbird and blackcap, and all their companions, are gathered together and sing praises to the Lord, chanting distinct notes and yet concluding in a melody of most ravishing sweetness; such was the mass of the Fisherman. Nor was this all, for one day as the saint prayed beside the well he became aware that a bee circled round and round his head, uttering loud buzzing sounds, but not endeavouring to sting him. To be short; the bee went before Ilar, and led him to a hollow tree not far off, and straightway a swarm of bees issued forth, leaving a vast store of wax behind them. This was their oblation to the Most High, for from their wax Ilar Sant made goodly candles to burn at the Offering; and from that time the bee is holy, because his wax makes light to shine upon the Gifts. "
2 " There is a tender breeze Wafting around hereFeel it from your Soul You will see Magic over hereDid I just now hear a beautiful symphony over here ?Or is it just your soothing words murmuring in my ear?Is it the cute mynah bird on my shoulder?Or is it your soft head nestling that I feel so tender? There is a tender breeze Wafting around hereFeel it from your SoulYou will see Magic over here...Did I just now hear the nightingale sing around here?Or is it the breeze whispering softly to the trees near?Is that you giggling away to glory? Or is that just the flowers mingling with the bees and telling their story?There is a tender breeze Wafting around hereFeel it from your SoulYou will see Magic over here.. "
― Avijeet Das
3 " Last night the nightingale sat by my window and sang her joyous song of love...Though I loved it, my heart silently missed the beautiful song of your heart beat! "
4 " The catchers delight in the moment so frozen but soon discover that the nightingale expires, its clear flutelike song diminishes to silence, the trapped moment grows withered and without life. "
― Alan Lightman , Einstein's Dreams
5 " Brute force crushes many plants. Yet the plants rise again. The Pyramids will not last a moment compared with the daisy. And before Buddha or Jesus spoke the nightingale sang, and long after the words of Jesus and Buddha are gone into oblivion the nightingale still will sing. Because it is neither preaching nor teaching nor commanding nor urging. It is just singing. And in the beginning was not a Word, but a chirrup. "
― D.H. Lawrence
6 " The splendor of youth is, to a point, the splendor of error. Jealous the old, who have everything previewed! The nightingale will never come sing over your wisdom. It won’t, darlin’, it won’t. "
― Odysseas Elytis , Open Papers
7 " Say I Am YouI am dust particles in sunlight.I am the round sun.To the bits of dust I say, Stay.To the sun, Keep moving.I am morning mist, and the breathing of evening.I am wind in the top of a grove, and surf on the cliff.Mast, rudder, helmsman, and keel,I am also the coral reef they founder on.I am a tree with a trained parrot in its branches.Silence, thought, and voice.The musical air coming through a flute,a spark of a stone, a flickering in metal.Both candle and the moth crazy around it.Rose, and the nightingale lost in the fragrance.I am all orders of being, the circling galaxy,the evolutionary intelligence, the lift,and the falling away. What is, and what isn't.You who know Jelaluddin, You the one in all,say who I am. Say I am You. "
― Rumi
8 " I propose a toast to mirth; be merry! Let us complete our course of law by folly and eating! Indigestion and the digest. let Justinian be the male, and Feasting, the female! Joy the depths! Live, O creation! The world is a great diamond. I am happy. The birds are astonishing. What a festival everywhere! The nightingale is a gratuitous Elleviou.Summer, I salute thee! "
― Victor Hugo , Les Misérables
9 " From centuries ago before the dawn of civilization, I have been wandering. I am the wanderer. I can't stay at one place. I am destined to wander from place to place!And I keep wandering in search of a nothingness. The river embraces me and guides me to swim inside her and to drink the nectar of love from her bosom. She tells me her secrets and I tell her mine. She makes me sensitive and soft.The mountain greets me with respect and guides me to traverse the rocks and crevices of its body! He is strong and vigorous and he appreciates my stamina and toughness.After dusk in the night, the stars smile at me and they show me light to travel in the darkness. They tell me their stories and I tell them mine.The moon embalms me with her love and she kisses me good night. The nightingale sings her song of love when I take rest in the arms of darkness in the night!And after the dawn of the morning, the sun greets me and acknowledges my spirit and strength!I am the wanderer and I keep wandering in search of a nothingness.I am the wanderer and wandering is my destiny! "
10 " Agesilaus the Spartan king was once invited to hear a mimic imitate the nightingale but declined with the comment that he had heard the nightingale itself. "
11 " Hark! that's the nightingale Telling the self-same tale Her song told when this ancient earth was young: So echoes answered when her song was sung In the first wooded vale. "
12 " Yet Ah that Spring should vanish with the Rose. That Youth's sweetscented manuscript should close! The Nightingale that in the branches sang Ah whence and whither flown again who knows? "