Caged Bird Freedom Quotes

Some birds are not meant to be caged, that's all. Their feathers are too bright, their songs too sweet and wild. So you let them go, or when you open the cage to feed them they somehow fly out past you. And the part of you that knows it was wrong to imprison them in the first place rejoices, but still, the place where you live is that much more drab and empty for their departure.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill, of things unknown, but longed for still, and his tune is heard on the distant hill, for the caged bird sings of freedom.

The only thing crueler than a cage so small that a bird can’t fly is a cage so large that a bird thinks it can fly.

To be left alone on the tightrope of youthful unknowing is to experience the excruciating beauty of full freedom and the threat of eternal indecision. Few, if any, survive their teens. Most surrender to the vague but murderous pressure of adult conformity. It becomes easier to die and avoid conflict than to maintain a constant battle with the superior forces of maturity.

To be left alone on the tightrope of youthful unknowing is to experience the excruciating beauty of full freedom and the threat of eternal indecision.

A person isn't a bird. You can't cage a person.

Caged Bird A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing in the orange suns rays and dares to claim the sky. But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage can seldom see through his bars of rage his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing. The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom. The free bird thinks of another breeze and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn and he names the sky his own. But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing. The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom.

[Marriage] happens as with cages: the birds without despair to get in, and those within despair of getting out.

How can a bird that is born for joy Sit in a cage and sing?

Artists talk a lot about freedom. So, recalling the expression "free as a bird," Morton Feldman went to a park one day and spent some time watching our feathered friends. When he came back, he said, "You know? They're not free: they're fighting over bits of food.

Truth can be awful and even excruciating, but once it's released, it's like a bird that's been caged too long who finally flies to freedom. I felt a little like that. Free

Everybody's a bird, locked up in a pretty cage. Sometimes you fly to a slightly bigger one, but you never quite have the courage to abandon captivity completely.

A relationship is like a bird: If you set it free, it will thrive. If you put it in a cage, it will struggle to survive.

Leaving what is safe so you can be more, Derek said. The cage is what the bird knows; the sky is all the things he still wants to do even if it's a risk.

Some birds are not meant to be caged, that's all. Their feathers are too bright, their songs too sweet and wild.

-The little comfort of love? -Is that comfort so little? -Caged birds accept each other but flight is what they long for.

There shall come a day when Birds shall be free... :) and humans will see...

It's like watching a bird that's been caged its whole existence and is suddenly released, overwhelmed with freedom and life, filling its lungs with what it never dared breathe and filling its eyes with what it never dared see.

The Sunlight on the Garden The sunlight on the garden Hardens and grows cold, We cannot cage the minute Within its nets of gold, When all is told We cannot beg for pardon. Our freedom as free lances Advances towards its end; The earth compels, upon it Sonnets and birds descend; And soon, my friend, We shall have no time for dances. The sky was good for flying Defying the church bells And every evil iron Siren and what it tells: The earth compels, We are dying, Egypt, dying And not expecting pardon, Hardened in heart anew, But glad to have sat under Thunder and rain with you, And grateful too For sunlight on the garden.

One day I asked a wingless bird what will she do now. She replied, “If I can’t fly than I shall run. If I can’t run I shall walk. If I can’t walk I shall crawl. But I will never be stuck in cage.

If it weren’t for her setting me free, I may still be a caged bird today, holding my own daughter captive on a shit-laden perch.

5. Then on a rainy day in early July the words she was copying from one of Martha the Benevolent’s ancient sayings spoke to her: Birds fly free until they are put in a cage, but the cage does not bind their wings When the cage is opened, the wings spread out, and the bird flies free again So the poor are trapped in a cage by the avarice of the rich Not in a cage made of gold, but one of hunger, despair and need So the prisoner dreams of the wide open spaces Wind in her hair, breathing in the freedom, beyond the four walls of her cell Our mission is to free the prisoner, to help the poor to spread their wings To open the door of the oppressor’s cage, to find a way to a fairer age.

Do you have a pet bird?' I asked, looking around the room. 'Oh, heavens, no. I'd never cage a bird. I can't imagine a worse fate, can you? I bought this cage at a market in Peru several years ago. I hung it here and wired the door open to remind myself how delicious freedom is -- financial and otherwise.

It is hard to explain to a privileged child the difference between freedom and captivity. For him, the world functions differently, all rains bear fruits and all men are free. He catches a golden bird and puts it inside a gold cage. He watches it grow, captivated, unaware that with its beautiful body comes a pair of wings that can set it free.

Be like a bird, Never meant to be held, In a cage, shuttered by agony. It's time for you to break free, From the grips of pain's deep sea, And take control of your destiny.

He dabbed at his tuxedo with a damp rag, and the fungi came away easily. "Hate to do this, Bill," he said of the fungi he was murdering. "Fungi have as much right to life as I do. they know what they want, Bill. Damned if I do anymore." Then he thought about what Bill himself might want. It was easy to guess. "Bill," he said, "I like you so much, and I am such a big shot in the Universe, that I will make your three biggest wishes come true." He opened the door of the cage, something Bill couldn't have done in a thousand years. Bill flew over to the windowsill. He put his little shoulder against the glass. there was just one layer of glass between Bill and the great out-of-doors. Although Trough was in the storm window business, he had no storm windows on his own abode. "Your second wish is about to come true," said Trout, and he again did something which Bill could never have done. he opened the window. But the opening of the window was such an alarming business to the parakeet that he flew back to his cage and hopped inside. Trout closed the door of the cage and latched it. "That's the most intelligent use of three wishes I ever heard of," he told the bird. "You made sure you'd still have something worth wishing for--to get out of the cage.

But wealth isn’t a magic lamp that suddenly erases all your problems. Imagine being a large bird in a tiny—but golden—cage. [...] I’m free here. Having the freedom to choose is better than having everything you want.

Once upon a time, there was a bird. He was adorned with two perfect wings and with glossy, colorful, marvelous feathers. One day, a woman saw this bird and fell in love with him. She invited the bird to fly with her, and the two travelled across the sky in perfect harmony. She admired and venerated and celebrated that bird. But then she thought: He might want to visit far-off mountains! And she was afraid, afraid that she would never feel the same way about any other bird. And she thought: “I’m going to set a trap. The next time the bird appears, he will never leave again.” The bird, who was also in love, returned the following day, fell into the trap and was put in a cage. She looked at the bird every day. There he was, the object of her passion, and she showed him to her friends, who said: “Now you have everything you could possibly want.” However, a strange transformation began to take place: now that she had the bird and no longer needed to woo him, she began to lose interest. The bird, unable to fly and express the true meaning of his life, began to waste away and his feathers to lose their gloss; he grew ugly; and the woman no longer paid him any attention, except by feeding him and cleaning out his cage. One day, the bird died. The woman felt terribly sad and spent all her time thinking about him. But she did not remember the cage, she thought only of the day when she had seen him for the first time, flying contentedly amongst the clouds. If she had looked more deeply into herself, she would have realized that what had thrilled her about the bird was his freedom, the energy of his wings in motion, not his physical body. Without the bird, her life too lost all meaning, and Death came knocking at her door. “Why have you come?” she asked Death. “So that you can fly once more with him across the sky,” Death replied. “If you had allowed him to come and go, you would have loved and admired him ever more; alas, you now need me in order to find him again.

What time is it?’ ‘Whatever time you want it to be,’ she gave him a cheeky wink. ‘Now be honest, did you ask for free will?’ ‘How did you—?’ Amanita joined Mario beneath the covers. The ethereal Threads tethering her wrists phased through the thick wool blankets like sunlight through a windowpane. ‘The bird that acknowledges its cage only ever sings of freedom,’ she said dreamily.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill, of things unknown, but longed for still, and his tune is heard on the distant hill, for the caged bird sings of freedom.

I don't like righteousness, I don't. To my ears, righteousness sounds like the chatter made by birds in cages when the birds of the skies fly by.

I wish I could build you a cage, little bird, or a beautiful tower, to keep you safe from the corrupt, cynical world. You don’t know how precious it is to be naive and innocent. I only want to protect you, so you can sing and be free like the golden bird you were born to be.

To be left alone on the tightrope of youthful unknowing is to experience the excruciating beauty of full freedom and the threat of eternal indecision. Few, if any, survive their teens. Most surrender to the vague but murderous pressure of adult conformity. It becomes easier to die and avoid conflicts than to maintain a constant battle with the superior forces of maturity.

If the bird does like its cage, and does like its sugar and will not leave it, why keep the door so carefully shut? Why not open it, only a little? Do they know there is many a bird will not break its wings against the bars, but would fly if the doors were open?

When a bird is released from its cage, it flies away and never returns. Like a bird, fly away to power and freedom.

He who frees a bird from its cage is surely a holy person!

Caged birds grow the most colourful wings.

A bird never learns to fly when it is locked in a cage.

Freedom is the inherent state of nature. A bird is free until you clip its wings and put it in a cage. Just because you pick up its shit, give it food and water, and let it do as it pleases within the confines of its cage does not make it any less a captive. Even if the cage was made of pure gold, the ornate bars would serve the same purpose.

It has to be a bird on the wing, in the sky – you cannot encage it. Even if you make a golden cage, you will kill the bird. The bird in the cage and the bird in the open sky are not the same; they are two different phenomena. They look alike, but the bird on the wing, in the winds, in the clouds, has freedom and because of freedom it has bliss.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing. The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom. from Caged Bird

And at last, the wicked Queen's spell was broken, and the young woman, whom circumstance and cruelty had trapped in the body of a bird, was released from her cage. The cage door opened and the cuckoo bird fell, fell, fell, until finally her stunted wings opened, and she found that she could fly. With the cool sea breeze of her homeland buffeting the underside of her wings, she soared over the cliff edge and across the ocean. Towards a new land of hope, and freedom, and life. Towards her other half. Home.

When a child is born in a jail and during their life all they know is the jail they were born into, the idea of freedom becomes so terrifying that they ridicule the very thought of being free, as a clinical illness. It is nothing like the song that a caged bird sings.

In passion we lose the sense of right and wrong. In compassion we transcend the notions of right and wrong. Love is a flight from passion to compassion. A caged bird falls into the fire of passion only to burn the cage. Then it flies freely in the skies of compassion.

Freedom, sir," I began unceremoniously, without greeting or inquiry, "freedom is the biggest thing for man. Nothing can be compared to it— nothing at all!" Surprised at my outburst, my master looked up at me in silence. "One can understand nothing from books," I went on. "We read in the scriptures that our desires are bonds, fettering us as well as others. But such words, by themselves, are so empty. It is only when we get to the point of letting the bird out of its cage that we can realize how free the bird has set us. Whatever we cage, shackles us with desire whose bonds are stronger than those of iron chains. I tell you, sir, this is just what the world has failed to understand. They all seek to reform something outside themselves. But reform is wanted only in one's own desires, nowhere else, nowhere else!

There is coming a day, when freedom will just be a essence of the mind, an inner dwelling that was once physically attainable. They will tell you where you can live, and what you can wear and drive, what and how much you can eat and drink, and how to purchase those. They will strip you of your religion, race, gender, national origin, age, color, creed, views and power, and have control of the population. They will set in a new world order, and put you in the back of the line, marked and branded. Everything before will be erased, and the new will be manipulated. And what you believe most, can only be kept secret, for all must fall in line of their govern. Anything outside will be abolished. Even death, will be sought, but restrained. They will execute complete and total control over everything, and be sole owners of your soul. The light, that once guided will go dim, and liberty will be like an unwilled bird, suppressed in the cage of your ribs; wings cut off.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream his wings are clipped and his feed are tied so his opens his throat to sing. The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant ill for the caged bird sings of freedom.

I will not be like a bird bred in a cage, I thought, too dull to fly even when the door stands open. I stepped into those woods and my life began.

If a bird is caged, expect all its songs to be songs of freedom.

Those ignoramuses who think that birds are happy in their cages know not a single thing about freedom!

The caged bird sings with A fearful trill of things unknown But longed for still and his Tune is heard on the distant hill For the caged bird sings of freedom.

Raise up your voice like a free bird shouting out the silence of the caged birds crying to be free

If you put a bird in a cage, it will only fly out if it believes it deserves to be free.

somewhere there are birds that fly free here I am caged and can barely breathe... I am scared of so goddamn much afraid these flames will burn my fingers they hurt from clinging too hard I'm lost I'm bruised I don't know what to do I never thought I'd give up but I'm starting to think I'm going to lose freedom tastes sweeter than I'd expect unshakeable we whisper, you guide me through the fire

If you are free, you're going to scare them. In the same way light scares bats or how a chained animal grown so accustomed to its cage, would refuse an opened fence. That's how you'll scare them: with an open mind, a brave voice, the stare of a bear! You'll scare them every time you belly-laugh and every time you look a man eye-to-eye as an equal. You'll scare them when they see your thighs and when you choose your own religion. You'll scare them. Because it's birds who fly free that terrify the ones in cages.

Woman is too volatile and spiritual, a being to be kept down by mere brute force," she [Elizabeth Packard] wrote. "You can cage a bird and thus keep her down on a level with her serpent-mate, but just give her the use of her powers, its freedom, and she will rise.

Cage a bird that once felt the wind through its feathers and the world beneath its feet, and you’d find that insane glint of hope in its eyes that enticed it to escape every time the door swung open. Even if it could no longer fly, it’d never stop vying for its freedom, and neither would I.

But, my dear friend Wildfire," said Carl Peterson laying his hand on the Indian's shoulder, "this is not a policy to live by." "Then let it be a policy to die by," defiantly spoke the Indian. "If we cannot be free, let us die. What is life to a caged bird, threatened with death on all sides?

There comes a time in every bird's life, when it must stop revisiting the other birds in cages, stop trying to break open their locks. A bird in the sky must one day realize, that many birds have chosen their own cages, and that the freedom to choose captivity, is also a freedom that needs to be granted.

-Part 2- Worry not about the future. You might not go there. Live not in the past. Its doors are locked. Its keys are in the skies. But remember this: Your heart is a castle. Guard it with a cage of gold. Only he who is destined to enter it will seek the key. Your mind is a kingdom of grace. Keep its gates high and mighty. Keep it guarded with your faith. Befriend silence. It never betrays you. You are the master of your journey. You are the owner of your path. You are a bird, but unless you fly, you are not free. Only after your wings are broken will you realize that freedom is in your hands. So be free.

How long can you keep birds in cages when their wings are strong and they are ready to fly? We can give our children only two things in life which are essential. Strong roots and powerful wings. Then they may fly anywhere and live independently. Of all the luxuries in life, the greatest luxury is getting freedom of the right kind.

We may be captive when we choose financial stability over artistic freedom, when we live our lives like agoraphobics, confusing the safety of a locked house with security. The cage oh habit. The cage of ego. The cage of ambition. The cage of materialism. The line between freedom from fear and freedom from danger is not always easy to discern

The most to which we can ever aspire is not to break free from the cage that sits around us as some may believe, but that instead we might choose one that best suits our needs. A home for a captive lizard is not suitable for a bird. A gorilla is displeased by an environment that would be bliss for a snake. Do not mistake me—it is better to hate your cage and search for something more than to be complacent. That we might find our cage a Heaven or a Hell is far more preferable to wanting nothing at all. Ants care not whose dirt they dwell in. Hate your cage. Find another. Build it with your own bare hands if you must—but understand that it is a cage all the same. Embrace it. Fashion it with pride. Make it your home. There is no such thing as freedom for our species.

You, over there. You, who’s always looking over his neighbour’s fence. The beauty of this world is wasted on you. I say, the beauty of this world is wasted on you. You use your eyes to cast disapproving looks. You use your tongue to degrade and denigrate. And worst of all, you use your dirty hands to reach into pockets, thinking happiness is found in coins. But happiness is the bird that will never fly near you, because it knows your desire to cage it— like you do with everything else. You cage love so two men can’t share it. You cage hope because you can’t stand faith. And you cage God so people think darkness is all there is. But the only thing you’ve successfully caged is your petty mind. I need you to know one thing: There will never be a cage to confine our light! We, here, we are free. Free to dream. Free to love. And free to be who we want to be.

I could understand their pain at their only son leaving home. It is always a difficult time for parents, but it is also inevitable. How long can you keep birds in cages when their wings are strong and they are ready to fly? We can give our children only two things in life which are essential. Strong roots and powerful wings. Then they may fly anywhere and live independently. Of all the luxuries in life, the greatest luxury is getting freedom of the right kind. Now the mother joined

The unfortunate reality we must face is that racism manifests itself not only in individual attitudes and stereotypes, but also in the basic structure of society. Academics have developed complicated theories and obscure jargon in an effort to describe what is now referred to as structural racism, yet the concept is fairly straightforward. One theorist, Iris Marion Young, relying on a famous “birdcage” metaphor, explains it this way: If one thinks about racism by examining only one wire of the cage, or one form of disadvantage, it is difficult to understand how and why the bird is trapped. Only a large number of wires arranged in a specific way, and connected to one another, serve to enclose the bird and to ensure that it cannot escape.11 What is particularly important to keep in mind is that any given wire of the cage may or may not be specifically developed for the purpose of trapping the bird, yet it still operates (together with the other wires) to restrict its freedom. By the same token, not every aspect of a racial caste system needs to be developed for the specific purpose of controlling black people in order for it to operate (together with other laws, institutions, and practices) to trap them at the bottom of a racial hierarchy. In the system of mass incarceration, a wide variety of laws, institutions, and practices—ranging from racial profiling to biased sentencing policies, political disenfranchisement, and legalized employment discrimination—trap African Americans in a virtual (and literal) cage. Fortunately,

A caged bird in spring knows perfectly well that there is some way in which he should be able to serve. He is well aware that there is something to be done, but he is unable to do it. What is it? He cannot quite remember, but then he gets a vague inkling and he says to himself, “The others are building their nests and hatching their young and bringing them up,” and then he bangs his head against the bars of the cage. But the cage does not give way and the bird is maddened by pain. “What a idler,” says another bird passing by - what an idler. Yet the prisoner lives and does not die. There are no outward signs of what is going on inside him; he is doing well, he is quite cheerful in the sunshine. But then the season of the great migration arrives, an attack of melancholy. He has everything he needs, say the children who tend him in his cage - but he looks out, at the heavy thundery sky, and in his heart of hearts he rebels against his fate. I am caged, I am caged and you say I need nothing, you idiots! I have everything I need, indeed! Oh! please give me the freedom to be a bird like other birds!

There was something about those birds in the glass aviary that was foreboding and sad. They could fly, but they had no sky. The one who had escaped- the homing pigeon- was mourned, but shouldn't he have been celebrated? He had freedom; he had escaped his predictable route between Malibu and Bel-Air and was now flying in bigger and brighter skies, with a flight plan that was spontaneous and new. And then there was the girl: I had forced myself to forget her but was only successful for an hour or two, and then she would creep back in, the way a spider returns to a musty corner of a room to spin her web.

We have left the land and have embarked. We have burned our bridges behind us—indeed, we have gone farther and destroyed the land behind us. Now, little ship, look out! Beside you is the ocean: to be sure, it does not always roar, and at times it lies spread out like silk and gold and reveries of graciousness. But hours will come when you will realize that it is infinite and that there is nothing more awesome than infinity. Oh, the poor bird that felt free and now strikes the walls of this cage! Woe, when you feel homesick for the land as if it had offered more freedom—and there is no longer any “land”.

What are you? Who are you? I have never met a Chosen like you in my entire existence. You are everything that is free. You are freedom. And I... I'm the bird trapped in the cage, watching you fly away. But then, you look back at me, you always look back, and you reach through the bars and offer your hand to me. Though I am nothing, though I am just a heartless creature, you still offer me your hand. But I won't take it. I won't because... what will happen to us if I do? It doesn't matter. None of it matters. Because you were kind to me, you made me laugh - that isn't something I will forget easily, and I will repay you.

In the Horizon of the Infinite.—We have left the land and have gone aboard ship! We have broken down the bridge behind us— nay, more, the land behind us! Well, little ship! look out! Beside thee is the ocean; it is true it does not always roar, and sometimes it spreads out like silk and gold and a gentle reverie. But times will come when thou wilt feel that it is infinite, and that there is nothing more frightful than infinity. Oh, the poor bird that felt itself free, and now strikes against the walls of this cage! Alas, if home sickness for the land should attack thee, as if there had been more freedom there, —and there is no "land" any longer!

You're like some wild bird, aren't you? Batting its wings and flying against the cage door. Even if it hurts you. Even if it kills you. You won't stop. Even if on one is out to hurt you, you wont stop." He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, and I flinch at the brush of his fingers on my skin. I shrug, slap at his hand "So what? You just described everyone in here. All of us." "No, the rest of us will keep to this cage. It's protection from the dangers outside. In here, we have shelter. Freedom. Each other. We wait for the door to open, and when its safe, only then do we go out. You? You don't care as long as you're gone. Away from the rest of us.

You know just as well as I do that Vikram’s thread never budged,” I said stonily. Amar bowed his head. Good, I thought. At least he could fake some guilt. “I know.” “Why couldn’t I? Why did you made it sound like I could? All this talk about being a true ruler here, this…awakening of power. Or control. I had no control over that thread. I couldn’t even pull it from one side to another.” “It takes time. But it’s a start. It’s a new beginning,” he said. A chill ran up my spine. “For you and me.” He braced his elbows against his knees, the sleeves revealing the bracelet of my hair around his wrist. He had tethered a part of me to him, but I had nothing of his. He kept all his secrets from me. “Trust me,” said Amar. “And tonight, we shall celebrate. Where shall I take you, my queen? Your will is where I lay my head.” My mind twisted into a snarl. “How can I trust you?” Amar’s grin slipped off his face and his eyes narrowed. “Have I not proven myself? I rescued you from death--” “You don’t know that,” I retorted, my voice raising. “Perhaps I would’ve made a last-minute escape. Perhaps the kingdom would’ve changed its mind.” “But they didn’t, did they?” said Amar coldly. “I’m the one who took you to safety. I’m the one who made you a queen.” “Queen? I’m no better than a caged bird,” I bit out. The words tasted like bile. “What would that make me? An owner? You have free rein, as always, over this kingdom. Much more freedom than any caged bird. Think on that. All I ask, for now, is that you don’t--” “Walk alone? Question you? Breathe without your permission?” I offered, knowing what he would say. “I have free rein except when I don’t.

She sings in deeply accented English, a song about a caged bird’s longing for freedom. Her voice soars and dips like a swallow in flight. Suddenly, or so it seems, the song is over.

James had a theory about caged birds, one he hoped to prove when he became a scientist someday. He believed that all birds that had their freedom taken from them eventually lost their voices. Once that happened, they could never find their true song.

The temporary father, the pretend father, was out of my life, taking my mother with him. I’d looked forward to leaving for so long, and now I felt robbed of the statement I’d hoped to make even though the end result was the same. It was an anticlimax to years of misery. To be released with a shrug. I didn’t think it was possible for my mother to raise a child from birth to eighteen years of age, and once I was gone it was easier for her to wash her hands of the responsibility. Easier for her to forget I existed. Most of the time. She’d done so with my older brother, and now she’d let me go, and she would probably do the same with Jude. The freedom was almost too much. I was like some wild bird that had been kept in a cage, then finally released. I flew and flew, and

A pen in a case is like a bird in a cage.

If the caged bird is the Beast, trapped and taunted by the idea of freedom, then like it, the Black fat sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still; we sit on graves of dreams not yet seen. In those dreams, which may never resurrect, there's a place--not the World--where we live and breathe as beings not bound by identifiers and qualifiers predicated on anti-Blackness. Where we are not Black or white, not thin or fat, not cis or trans, not queer or straight, not bound or unbound. In that place, the caged bird is not freed from its cage; in that place, the cage never existed for the bird to ever be bound by.

It's not the birds flying in the sky who are screaming at the birds in their cages. Birds in cages say, "Look at the birds in the sky, they envy our ornate cages." Then they scream at the birds flying by. But it's the caged birds that scream at the ones in the skies. It's not the other way around. Free birds don't think about cages.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom.

Or, maybe the thought that a bird in a golden cage is an object of great amusement for an unadventurous world and its inhabitants. For, no one cares to strain their eyes to see a free, soaring eagle in the high skies. For, a happy crow in one’s own backyard is not an amusing sight for anyone either. I am less stressed about being in this cage, than I am about my caged dreams and atrophied wings… It is the thought of the skies I had forsaken that stress me more than these glittering interiors… It is the thought of the sights that await me upon kissing the horizon that are stressing me more… Finally, it is the stories about these sights resting deep within and waiting to be told that are stressing me out more than anything else…

I felt like a blind, caged bird who was told it could fly like the other birds, but didn’t know it was trapped in a cage.

Amongst the obvious, yes, you are shorter than me, but not all. Ever since I first saw you, you reminded me of a bird trying to break free from a cage. Yet, how can a Little Bird break free when she doesn't have the tools or means to do so? I knew from the start you were guarded. You could do whatever you wanted physically, and it wouldn’t affect you, but emotionally was an entirely different story. Birds are often frightened at the first approach of someone new or new experiences, even if that person was simply trying to help or aid in opening that cage door. It’s up to the bird to fly out of there and into freedom."-Hyder

I’ve forgotten how loud the jungle is, the constant thrum of activity and life, bursting and straining like a bird clamoring against its cage, desperate for freedom.

Birds, to me, are an inspiring animal that symbolizes freedom. Their freedom heals all ailments, boredom, loneliness, lovesickness and anxiety... But when I see a caged bird, my soul shrinks in grief with nowhere to go. Reminding me that not all people are meant to evolve beyond a certain point.

What do you see?” “A bird flying away from a broken cage,” Derek said. “What does it symbolize?” “Freedom,” I said. “What else?” “Escape,” Eduardo said. Doolittle turned to Derek. “Leaving what is safe so you can be more,” Derek said. “The cage is what the bird knows; the sky is all the things he still wants to do, even if it’s a risk.” “Ah!” Doolittle raised his index finger. “All those are examples of abstract thinking. Our entire culture is based on the idea that a single concept can have many different interpretations. We actively encourage the development of this skill, because it helps us solve our problems in new ways.

The desert's illimitable freedom," the officer murmured, as he poured out Simon's whiskey. "It's not altogether her fault, Mr. Jackson. It's these damned novelists. Every novel written about the desert should be censored by the police.

To be left alone on the tightrope of youthful unknowing is to experience the excruciating beauty of full freedom and the threat of eternal indecision. Few, is any, survive their teens. Most surrender to the vague but murderous pressure of adult conformity. It becomes easier to die and avoid conflicts than to maintain a constant battle with the superior forces of maturity.

With your weathered feathers, sunken breast and chipped beak, you can exit now. Spread the wire with your wings and sing the sweet melody that still wriggles in your throat, as you soar out the window that was always there.

Woman is too volatile and spiritual a being to be kept down by mere brute force,” she wrote. “You can cage a bird and thus keep her down on a level with her serpent-mate, but just give her the use of her powers, its freedom, and she will rise.

Maya Angelou spoke of why the caged bird sings and of the courage it takes for literature to crush racism and face trauma. Angelou said the caged bird sings when his wing is bruised and he beats his bars to be free, here’s hoping that every cage be broken through and every bruised wing be healed by the joy of freedom so that it could soar. There are no gardens in prison for the poet to see yet his words make the cage bloom.

I don’t draw the black swan that’s the symbol for the Lebedev Bratva, the one my brothers have tattooed on their forearms. Instead, I draw a magpie, one of my favorite birds. I envy the freedom of a creature that can just take off any damn time it wants. I’d give anything to escape, but my brothers have made sure my wings are permanently clipped. I won’t be leaving my cage anytime soon.

Maya knows why the caged bird sings but I know why she cries. She cries because she misses her wings and the hope of the bright blue skies.

Maya knows why the caged bird sings but I know why she cries. She cries because she misses her wings and the hope of the bright blue skies.

What is particularly important to keep in mind is that any given wire of the cage may or may not be specifically developed for the purpose of trapping the bird, yet it still operates (together with the other wires) to restrict its freedom. By the same token, not every aspect of a racial caste system needs to be developed for the specific purpose of controlling black people in order for it to operate (together with other laws, institutions, and practices) to trap them at the bottom of a racial hierarchy. In the system of mass incarceration, a wide variety of laws, institutions, and practices—ranging from racial profiling to biased sentencing policies, political disenfranchisement, and legalized employment discrimination—trap African Americans in a virtual (and literal) cage.

Just a grain can bring a bird down from the skies. Hindi/ Urdu Translation: Ek dana bhar hi chidiya ko zameeN par la sakta hai.

For Candrakirti, Bhavaviveka definitely stepped over the demarcation line of the pedagogically unavoidable use of discursiveness and reference points that is necessary for guiding others to utter freedom from such discursiveness. In a way, for Candrakirti (and certainly for Nagarjuna too), Bhavaviveka tried to lock up the wild bird of emptiness in the cage of conventional reference points, such as formal arguments. A bird may touch the earth once in a while, but its actual nature is to roam in the sky without restrictions and independent of the earth. Thus, if one is to experience the free flight of a bird, it does not help to make it sit still by trapping it in a cage and then counting its feathers.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom.

One bird was free; the other bird was bound. One is trapped, only able to see freedom in the distance; the other is free, flying in a world that works in its favor. In its weakness, the caged bird opens up his throat still. It gathers courage, strength, power, the will. The bird must sing in a world that has him bound. He must open up his throat, flap his tender and broken wings, and gather itself to travel far beyond the cage, the rough terrain, the terrible pain of its losses.

A few dogs barked as I passed by their territories, their chains clanking as they rose to attention then snapping with a metallic clang when they reached the limit of their freedom. I empathized with their pathetic existence, neglected yet tethered in place by the very people who ignored them . I was tempted to unhook their chains and set them free, but would they be any better off, left to fend for themselves ? Most of them had a roof over their heads of some kind, food and water if not always enough, and most were not abused, just forgotten — their novelty worn off, their owners distracted by the pursuit of other pleasures.