我透过木条紧固的鸟笼，不时观察着一只颇念新奇的鸟，笼子里是一个活跃、不安、不屈不挠的囚徒，一旦获得自由，它一定会高飞云端。

I see at intervals the glance of a curious sort of bird through the close-set bars of a cage: a vivid, restless, resolute captive is there; were it but free, it would soar cloud-high.

youdao

但转念一想，比起生命的长短，一个人的生活质量远远重要。如果你是一只鸟，却不能展翅高飞，那活着还有什么意思呢？

It was then that I realized that the quality of one's life is much more important than the number of years one lives. What sense is there in being a bird if you can't fly?

youdao