What you see at the Field Museum is only like, 10 percent of the collection. It's birds of … - Andrew Bird

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In nature, everything has a job. The job of the fog is to beautify further the existing beauties!

Andrew Bird

What you see at the Field Museum is only like, 10 percent of the collection. It's birds of paradise and passenger pigeons and in all these drawers that pull out, these specimens come out and it's spectacular. And it worked out.

Bird, Birds, Museums, Paradise, Passenger, Pigeons

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Every time I make a record, it's kind of like scarification or something. You work 15 hours until you're stupid. You're just kind of all jittery.

Jittery, Kind, Records, Stupid, Time

The real drag is trying to fly from country to country, day of show, with all your gear. You get hassled all the time. It's hard trying to keep it together.

Country, Drag, Gear, Real, Show, Trying

You travel with the hope that something unexpected will happen. It has to do with enjoying being lost and figuring it out and the satisfaction. I always get a little disappointed when I know too well where I'm going, or when I've lived in a place so long that there's no chance I could possibly get lost.

Enjoying, Hope, Littles, Long, Possibly, Satisfaction

I think I'm still a little too intense for my own good sometimes.

Good, Intense, Littles, Sometimes, Think, Thinking

Every time I get up in the morning, melodies occur to me and I start trying to shape lyrics to melodies.

Lyrics, Melodies, Morning, Occur, Shapes, Trying

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There are lives to brighten. There are hearts to touch. There are souls to save.

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Mehmet Murat Ildan

In nature, everything has a job. The job of the fog is to beautify further the existing beauties!

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Carly Fiorina

Margaret Thatcher once said, "If you want something talked about, ask a man; if you want something done, ask a woman. "

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Johann Gottlieb Fichte

Full surely there is a blessedness beyond the grave for those who have already entered on it here, and in no other form than that wherein they know it here, at any moment.

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Edith Wharton

For hours she had lain in a kind of gentle torpor, not unlike that sweet lassitude which masters one in the hush of a midsummer noon, when the heat seems to have silenced the very birds and insects, and, lying sunk in the tasselled meadow grasses, one looks up through a level roofing of maple-leaves at the vast, shadowless, and unsuggestive blue.

Blue, Level, Lying, Sunk, Sweet