[M]en, though they know full well how much women are worth and how great the benefits we bring them, nonetheless seek to destroy us out of envy for our merits. It's just like the crow, when it produces white nestlings: it is so stricken by envy, knowing how black it is itself, that it kills its own offspring out of pique.

...A murder of crows gormandized until they were satiated.

He could almost taste the tang of that swampy air right here in his own desert parking lot and hear the calls of the heavily beating flock, sorrowing and apologizing and making plans for some other time. Time. He realized that crows had always reminded him of time, dark time. He gazed at the backs of his hands, at the plummy dark repellent veins.

I had run to boarding school to escape myself. But I couldn't escape who I was or what I'd done, no matter how fast or far I ran. The crows were just a reminder of that. They wanted back in.My past wasn't done with me.Not yet.

If you don’t hear the crows of the roosters in the mornings, you are one cursed city fellow!

...Dark furrow lines grid the snow, punctuated by orange abacus beads of pumpkins - now the crows own the field...

I want to be a guileless rook to discolor the blackness of all crafty human hearts.

Perfect devices: doctors, ghosts and crows. We can do things other characters can't, like eat sorrow, un-birth secrets and have theatrical battles with language and God.

Never a good sign, he thought, when the crows showed up.

The looters comes with the carrion crows after every battle.