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“The desert was a school, a school where each day, each hour, a final examination was offered, where failure meant death and the buzzards landed to correct the papers.”
Louis L'Amour“Questions from earlier circle like buzzards. Am I running away or moving forward?”
Doug Cooper, Outside In“Then came nightthat was like falling water.At times, for hours,a bird spirit,half buzzard, half swan,just above the rushesfrom which a snow-storm howls.”
Peter Huchel“If a writer of prose knows enough about what he is writing about he may omit things that he knows and the reader, if the writer is writing truly enough, will have a feeling of those things as strongly as though the writer had stated them. The dignity of movement of an ice-berg is due to only one-eighth of it being above water. A writer who omits things because he does not know them only makes hollow places in his writing. A writer who appreciates the seriousness of writing so little that he is anxious to make people see he is formally educated, cultured or well-bred is merely a popinjay. And this too remember; a serious writer is not to be confounded with a solemn writer. A serious writer may be a hawk or a buzzard or even a popinjay, but a solemn writer is always a bloody owl.”
Ernest Hemingway“I've exercised with women so thin that buzzards followed them to their cars.”
Erma Bombeck“Well, laddie, if you've let an old buzzard like me hurt you confidence, you couldn't have had much in the first place.”
Tamora Pierce, Alanna: The First Adventure“People can act so nice, bringing you food and all, but in the end they are nothing but buzzards. Waiting to pick your bones.”
Lee Smith, On Agate Hill“...[D]espite the concoction's disgusting lecture, it's cleared every blemish from my face, as promised. I am a Buzzard-created beauty, head to toe.”
Katie Crouch and Grady Hendrix, The White Glove War“You know that if I were reincarnated, I’d want to come back a buzzard. Nothing hates him or envies him or wants him or needs him. He is never bothered or in danger, and he can eat anything.”
William Faulkner“Tis true, Dr. Buzzard, that a silver bullet must be of the largest and heaviest sort to travel with any amount o’ range or accuracy. But after yon hellhound took no notice o’ my challenge or my first discharge, I said what was fitting with lead buckshot well-washed with silver that I’ve got from the most particular little shop in Birmingham. It didn’t like it.”
Rob S. Rice, Darkness in the Mirror