Quotes
Quotes about Flowers
Men do change, and change comes like a little wind that ruffles the curtains at dawn, and it comes like the stealthy perfume of wildflowers hidden in the grass. -John Steinbeck.
Children in a family are like flowers in a bouquet: there's always one determined to face in an opposite direction from the way the arranger desires.
Flowers are words which even a baby can understand.
Like summer seas that lave with silent tides a lonely shore, like whispering winds that stir the tops of forest trees, like a still, small voice that calls us in the watches of the night, like a child's hand that feels about a fast-closed door; gentle, unnoticed, and oft in vain: so is Thy coming unto us, O God. Like ships storm-driven into port, like starving souls that seek the bread they once despised, like wanderers begging refuge from the whelming night, like prodigals that seek the father's home when all is spent; yet welcomed at the open door, arms outstretched and kisses for our shame; so is our coming unto Thee, 0 God. Like flowers uplifted to the sun, like trees that bend before the storm, like sleeping seas that mirror cloudless skies, like a harp to the hand, like an echo to a cry, like a song to the heart; for all our stubbornness, our failure, and our sin: so would we have been to Thee, O God.
Thus we see, too, in the world that some persons assimilate only what is ugly and evil from the same moral circumstances which supply good and beautiful results--the fragrance of celestial flowers--to the daily life of others.
I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
The cloning of humans is on most of the lists of things to worry about from Science, along with behaviour control, genetic engineering, transplanted heads, computer poetry and the unrestrained growth of plastic flowers.
And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers.
A cynic is a man who, when he smells flowers, looks around for a coffin.
A cynic is a man who, when he smells flowers, looks around for a coffin.
What ye have been ye still shall be When we are dust the dust among, O yellow flowers!
I would I had some flowers o' th' spring that might Become your time of day, and yours, and yours, That wear upon your virgin branches yet Your maidenheads growing. O, Proserpina, For the flowers now that, frighted, thou let'st fall From Dis's wagon; daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses, That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength--a malady Most incident to maids; bold oxlips and The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds, The flower-de-luce being one.
Spake full well, in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he call'd the flowers, so blue and golden, Stars that on earth's firmament do shine.
Bright flowers, whose home is everywhere Bold in maternal nature's care And all the long year through the heir Of joy and sorrow, Methinks that there abides in thee Some concord with humanity, Given to no other flower I see The forest through.
From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity.
Boy, when you are dead, they really fix you up. I hope to hell when I do die somebody has sense enough to just dump me in the river or something. Anything except sticking me in a god dam cemetery. People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday and all that crap. Who wants flowers when you are dead? Nobody.
Don't strew me with roses after I'm dead. When Death claims the light of my brow No flowers of life will cheer me: instead You may give me my roses now!
From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity.
We grow like flowers, and bear desire, The odor of the human flowers.
The primal duties shine aloft, like stars; The charities that soothe, and heal, and bless Are scattered at the feet of Man, like flowers.
Awake, thou wintry earth-- Fling off thy sadness! Fair vernal flowers, laugh forth Your ancient gladness! Christ is risen.
Much education today is monumentally ineffective. All too often we are giving young people cut flowers when we should be teaching them to grow their own plants.
If I should die, think only this of me: That there's some corner of a foreign field That is forever England. There shall be In that rich earth a richer dust concealed; A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware, Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam, A body of England's, breathing English air, Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.
From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity.
When day is done, and clouds are low, And flowers are honey-dew, And Hesper's lamp begins to glow Along the western blue; And homeward wing the turtle-doves, Then comes the hour the poet loves.
