"Bats" Quotes from Famous Books
 ... over India the birds and beasts are entirely different from ours, all but one bird which is exactly like ours, and that is the Quail. But everything else is totally different. For example they have bats,—I mean those birds that fly by night and have no feathers of any kind; well, their birds of this kind are as big as a goshawk! Their goshawks again are as black as crows, a good deal bigger than ours, and very ...
— The Travels of Marco Polo, Volume 2 • Marco Polo and Rustichello of Pisa
... he; and we, ye, and they, are all bats; and I'm a crow, especially when I stand a'top of this pine tree here. Caw! caw! caw! caw! caw! caw! Ain't I a crow? And where's the scare-crow? There he stands; two bones stuck into a pair of old trowsers, and two more poked into the sleeves of ...
— Moby Dick; or The Whale • Herman Melville
... next of solitariness, A portraiture doth well express, By sleeping dog, cat: Buck and Doe, Hares, Conies in the desert go: Bats, Owls the shady bowers over, In melancholy darkness hover. Mark well: If't be not as't should be, Blame the bad ...
— The Anatomy of Melancholy • Democritus Junior
... carpets, the chill high walls, the massive desks, the impressive chairs, the great majestic table portentously suggestive of power. Presto! the dim calm is broken; the air vibrates as when an ancient church is invaded by a swarm of vampire-bats. Into the great room enter a group of men and a flock of youths, who settle in the impressive chairs round the majestic table. You wonder what is the motive of the assemblage. These grave lawyers, whose names are weighty in the nation's councils, and these gray-haired, dignified financiers ...
— Frenzied Finance - Vol. 1: The Crime of Amalgamated • Thomas W. Lawson
... travel. The road would fringe a pit of shade, black but for the gleam of mica and the scattered foam of the stream. It was no longer a silent world. Hawks screamed at times from the cliffs, and a multitude of bats and owls flickered in the depths. A continuous falling of waters, an infinite sighing of night winds, the swaying and tossing which is always heard in the midmost mountain solitudes, the crumbling of hill gravel and the bleat of a goat on some hill-side, all ...
— The Half-Hearted • John Buchan
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