Swans Quotes

“Every lake belongs to the quietness desired by the swans.”
― Munia Khan

“Nothing in all those "O swan" poems had ever mentioned that they hissed. Or resented being mistaken for felines. Or bit.”
― Connie Willis, To Say Nothing of the Dog

“Every morning
before the birds start
trilling me their stories,
I give birth to a new love
through my same old heart
when a lake’s placidity
finds life in the swans breath
Only for you...

From the poem 'Only For You”
― Munia Khan, To Evince the Blue

“Wings are of many kinds. Butterfly's wings, vulture's wings, eagle-wings, spread wings of white swans, dragonfly's serene wings, wings of albatross, lovely wings of humming birds, tiny wings of a fly or a bumble-bee-wings; and when they fly, they fly their best according to their ability of flying. We should not underestimate the size of those heavenly wings.”
― Munia Khan

“Silence is another element we find in classic fairy tales — girls muted by magic or sworn to silence in order to break enchantment. In "The Wild Swans," a princess is imprisoned by her stepmother, rolled in filth, then banished from home (as her older brothers had been before her). She goes in search of her missing brothers, discovers that they've been turned into swans, whereupon the young girl vows to find a way to break the spell. A mysterious woman comes to her in a dream and tells her what to do: 'Pick the nettles that grow in graveyards, crush and spin them into thread, then weave them into coats and throw them over your brothers' backs.' The nettles burn and blister, yet she never falters: picking, spinning, weaving, working with wounded, crippled hands, determined to save her brothers. All this time she's silent. 'You must not speak,' the dream woman has warned, 'for a single world will be like a knife plunged into your brothers' hearts.'

You must not speak. That's what my stepfather said: don't speak, don't cry, don't tell. That's what my mother said as well, as we sat in hospital waiting rooms -- and I obeyed, as did my brothers. We sat as still and silent as stone while my mother spun false tales to explain each break and bruise and burn. Our family moved just often enough that her stories were fresh and plausible; each new doctor believed her, and chided us children to be more careful. I never contradicted those tales. I wouldn't have dared, or wanted to. They'd send me into foster care. They'd send my young brothers away. And so we sat, and the unspoken truth was as sharp as the point of a knife.”
― Terri Windling, Mirror, Mirror on the Wall: Women Writers Explore Their Favorite Fairy Tales

“The Wild Swans at Coole
The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine and fifty swans.


The nineteenth Autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.

I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All’s changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.

Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold,
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.

But now they drift on the still water
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake’s edge or pool
Delight men’s eyes, when I awake some day
To find they have flown away”
― William Butler Yeats

“Tonight I heard Louis's horn. My father heard it, too. The wind was right, and I could hear the notes of taps, just as darkness fell. There is nothing in all the world I like better than the trumpet of the swan.”
― E.B. White, The Trumpet of the Swan

“Your heart plays a song like a broken music box, but nothing ever sounded quite so beautiful to me. Together, in the dance of wounded-wing swans we’ll rise above the ruins, melting into the golden light.”
― John Mark Green

“A swan looking at the world from a misty calm lake is like a creature looking at the world from space! All he sees is a large herd of people governed by the most stupid and most inadequate people!”
― Mehmet Murat ildan

“The swans swam ahead, always ahead, their bodies gliding so that none could see the effort of their feet beneath the surface, paddling, moving, propelling them forward, forward, to that beautiful spot far ahead, an incandescent curtain of light, a shower of moonbeams, a heavenly constellation of stars.”
― Melanie Benjamin, The Swans of Fifth Avenue

“He gestured at her mask. "A swan. It suits you."
"I didn't have many choices. It was either a swan or a peacock."
The prince leaned closer, speaking softly. "Swans were my mother's favorite birds. She used to tell me that once they fall in love, they stay in love forever.”
― Elizabeth Lim, So This is Love

“Across the lilies was a pond, its waters a vibrant green from reflecting the trees around it. In the center of the pond swam two elegant white birds, their long necks curved toward one another.
"Swans!" Cinderella breathed. She leaned against the bridge's rail and gazed at the pair of swans gliding across the pond.
At her side, Charles rested his elbows on the bridge. "They're here every evening before sundown. Sometimes, during sunset, you can see the light dapple their feathers. Look."
Rays of golden light stroked the swans' wings, which shimmered against the still waters.
"I used to come here whenever I could to watch them," said Prince Charles. "I'm certain it's been the very same pair of swans for years. When I saw them, I'd feel a little less lonely."
"How happy they look," mused Cinderella, watching as the swans took flight, their feet skidding across the pond before they soared into the sky. "Free to come and go as they please.”
― Elizabeth Lim, So This is Love

“As he made his way back to his home on the Dijver, along the canals, beside the calm waters, Borluut felt his regret, his remorse at having divulged his worries grow at the sight of the noble swans, sealed-in snow, which, prisoners of the canals, prey to the rain, the sadness of the bells, the shadow of the gables, have the modesty to remain silent and only complain, with a voice that is almost human, when they are about to die...”
― Georges Rodenbach, The Bells of Bruges

“But there comes to birth no common spawn
From the love of a priest for a leprechaun,
And you never have seen
and you never will see
Such things as the things that swaddled me!”
― Edna St. Vincent Millay, A Few Figs from Thistles

“The swans have returned and so have the dolphins to the Canals of Venice. Nature creates the most beautiful art!”
― Avijeet Das

“Swan, my mother said, sensing my excitement. It pattered the bright water, flapping its great wings, and lifted into the sky.

The word alone hardly attested to its magnificence nor conveyed the emotion it produced. The sight of it generated an urge I had no words for, a desire to speak of the swan, to say something of its whiteness, the explosive nature of its movement, and the slow beating of its wings.

The swan became one with the sky. I struggled to find words to describe my own sense of it. Swan, I repeated, not entirely satisfied, and I felt a twinge, a curious yearning, imperceptible to passersby, my mother, the trees, or the clouds.”
― Patti Smith, Just Kids

“My very first necklace, from my grandmother, had a swan pendant. Now, as an adult, I do still wear a swan pendant and it's my favourite one. I have been on dates wearing it and always get the same comment: "Did you know that swans may look graceful and elegant but they can break your arms with their wings?" They always say it like it's a bad thing. I think it's one of the most fantastic things in nature!”
― C. JoyBell C.

“My thoughts swerve back to swans' eggs. Such splendid things---their whites are purer, more translucent than those of any other egg. Perhaps their boiled yolks might be mixed with firm fresh butter, essence of anchovies, minced herbs, even a chopped shallot. And then returned to their hardboiled whites in softly beaten mounds. A swan's egg en salade, I think, smiling.”
― Annabel Abbs, Miss Eliza's English Kitchen

“Youngest Brother, swan's wing,
where one arm should be, yours the shirt
of nettles short a sleeve
and me with no time left to finish --
I didn't mend you all the way back into man
though I managed for your brothers;
they flit again from court to playing-courts
to courting, while you station yourself,
wing folded from sight, avian eye
to the outside, no rebuke meant but love's.
Was it better then, the living on the water,
the taking to air...?

("Ever After," from the book 'The Poets' Grimm')”
― Debora Greger

“There is nothing in nature which approximates to the idea of a hospice.”
― Jim Crumley, The Company of Swans

“I am as restless a traveller in my own land as a wintering whooper swan.”
― Jim Crumley, The Company of Swans

“Ella woke again as they entered the picturesque village of Bibury. A stone bridge arched over the placid River Coln, and Ella craned her neck to watch a swan and its fuzzy, brown cygnets floating alongside beds of watercress and the boggy watermeadow called Rack Isle.
Ella lifted her phone and snapped a picture. "It's like someone cued them."
"I called ahead." They drove past a row of sandstone cottages with colorful gardens, and in the center of town, Heather pointed out the ancient Saxon church. "St. Mary's was on a Christmas stamp a few decades back."
Ella rolled down her window to take another picture. "It's all so- so perfect.”
― Melanie Dobson, Shadows of Ladenbrooke Manor

“The soul, o ganders, flies beyond the parks
And far beyond the discords of the wind.

A bronze rain from the sun descending marks
The death of summer, which that time endures”
― Wallace Stevens

“The fresco on one large wall was indeed the marvel Julian had promised. It was a Pre-Raphaelite portrayal of the Children of Lir, those four siblings cursed to remain swans for nine hundred years. Despite a ragged crack that was making its way down the plaster, the fresco was as pulsing with life as though one was actually looking out on a placid freshwater lake.
When Marjan turned away from the painted wall, she saw its real-life inspiration outside the window. There, through floor-length panes, stood a pond complete with a flock of those gracious birds, the white-necked swans.”
― Marsha Mehran, Rosewater and Soda Bread

“There, tonight. The eternity of that. Swan logic. Swan history.”
― Laura Kasischke, Space, in Chains

“Snow-white, peerless, “arrogantly pure,” once the chosen disguise of Zeus himself and symbol throughout human history of solitary, self-delighting beauty, the swan is naturally hated beyond reason by scientific farmers, water engineers, pylon-worshippers and statisticians.”
― Peter Simple, Way of the World: The Best of Peter Simple

“Crystal took a moment to admire the black swans gliding across the water, wishing she could possess such style and grace.”
― Laelia Starla, Crystal's Crucible

“…I saw twelve angels wheeling in the sun, rays of white wings and gold light. “Swans!”
― Maxine Hong Kingston

“There is a wind, and the flowers on the window-sill, and their shadows on the curtains, are waving. Like swans dipping their beaks in water. Like the incalculable raising its head, uselessly and wildly, for one moment, before it sinks down, beaten, into the darkness. Like skulls on long, thin necks. Plunging wildly when the wind blows to the end of the curtain, which is their nothingness. Distorting themselves as they plunge.
The musty smell, the bugs, the loneliness, this room, which is part of the street outside - this is all I want from life.”
― Jean Rhys, Good Morning, Midnight

“On their lonesome, even swans (sometimes) can be.”
― Lana M. Rochel, Looking For Your Tribe: Intellectual Poems