Quotes on Flower

Rose of all Roses, Rose of all the World!_x000D_ _x000D_ You, too, have come where the dim tides are hurled._x000D_ _x000D_ Upon the wharves of sorrow, and heard ring_x000D_ _x000D_ The bell that calls us on; the sweet far thing.

Oh, this is the joy of the rose;_x000D_ _x000D_ That it blows,_x000D_ _x000D_ And goes.

I cast my heart into my rhymes,_x000D_ _x000D_ That you, in the dim coming times,_x000D_ _x000D_ May know how my heart went with them_x000D_ _x000D_ After the red-rose-bordered hem.

Oh! snatched away in beauty's bloom,_x000D_ _x000D_ On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;_x000D_ _x000D_ But on thy turf shall roses rear_x000D_ _x000D_ Their leaves, the earliest of the year.

If, I can someday see M. Claude Monet's garden, I feel sure that I shall see something that is not so much a garden of flowers as of colours and tones, less an old-fashioned flower garden than a colour garden, so to speak, one that achieves an effect not entirely nature's, because it was planted so that only the flowers with matching colours will bloom at the same time, harmonized in an infinite stretch of blue or pink.

Their lips were four red roses on a stalk.

The artist is the confidant of nature, flowers carry on dialogues with him through the graceful bending of their stems and the harmoniously tinted nuances of their blossoms, Every flower has a cordial word which nature directs towards him.

Reason and happiness are like other flowers; they wither when plucked.

Let the minor genius go his light way and enjoy his life - the great nature cannot so live, he is never really in holiday mood, even though he often plucks flowers by the wayside and ties them into knots and garlands like little children and lays out on a sunny morning.

My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief, Are mine alone!

For thee the wonder-working earth puts forth sweet flowers.

These flowers are like the pleasures of the world.

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,_x000D_ _x000D_ But bad mortality o'ersways their power,_x000D_ _x000D_ How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,_x000D_ _x000D_ Whose action is no stronger than a flower?

I have here only made a nosegay of culled flowers, and have brought nothing of my own but the thread that tied them together.

Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north - wind's breath, And stars to set; but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!

What could be said about me...a man to whom only his painting matters? And of course his garden and his flowers as well.

I work at my garden all the time and with love. What I need most are flowers, always. My heart is forever in Giverny.

To analyze the charms of flowers is like dissecting music; it is one of those things which it is far better to enjoy, than to attempt to fully understand.

Sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste.

There is material enough in a single flower for the ornament of a score of cathedrals.

Thoughts can create such a barrier that even if you are standing before a beautiful flower, you will not be able to see it. Your eyes are covered with layers of thought. To experience the beauty of the flower you have to be in a state of meditation, not in a state of mentation. You have to be silent, utterly silent, not even a flicker of thought - and the beauty explodes, reaches to you from all directions. You are drowned in the beauty of a sunrise, of a starry night, of beautiful trees.