The earth laughs in flowers.
Flowers may beckon towards us, but they speak toward heaven and God.
Flowers are words Which even a babe may understand.
But ne'er the rose without the thorn.
And I will make thee beds of roses, And a thousand fragrant posies.
Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin.
Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose.
In Flanders' fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place, and in the sky, The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard among the guns below.
Tis the last rose of summer. Left blooming alone.
Where flowers degenerate man cannot live.
"Of what are you afraid, my child?" inquired the kindly teacher. "Oh, sir! the flowers, they are wild," replied the timid creature.
If of thy mortal goods thoU art bereft, And from thy slender store two loaves alone to thee are left, Sell one, and with the dole Buy hyacinths to feed thy soul.
Say it with flowers.
I sometimes think that never blows so red The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled; That every Hyacinth the Garden wears Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head.
One thing is certain and the rest is lies; The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.
When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd, And the great star early droop'd in the western sky the night, I mourn'd - and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.
Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead.
It's so curious: one can resist tears and 'behave' very well in the hardest hours of grief. But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a drawer... and everything collapses.
She cast her fragrance and her radiance over me. I ought never to have run away from her... I ought to have guessed all the affection that lay behind her poor little stratagems. Flowers are so inconsistent! But I was too young to know how to love her...
A weed is but an unloved flower.