Quotes on Flower

Love not the flower they pluck and know it not, And all their botany is Latin names.

The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyone the sculpted flower.

Good heavens, of what un costly material is our earthly happiness composed... if we only knew it. What incomes have we not had from a flower, and how unfailing are the dividends of the seasons.

In search of my Love_x000D_ _x000D_ I will go over mountains and strands;_x000D_ _x000D_ I will gather no flowers,_x000D_ _x000D_ I will fear no wild beasts;_x000D_ _x000D_ And pass by the mighty and the frontiers.

I love you like a river that creates the right conditions for trees and bushes and flowers to flourish along its banks. I love you like a river that gives water to the thirsty and takes people where they want to go.

The fragrance of flowers spreads only in the direction of the wind. But the goodness of a person spreads in all direction.

Love has its own instinct, finding the way to the heart, as the feeblest insect finds the way to its flower, with a will which nothing can dismay nor turn aside.

The fairest thing in nature, a flower, still has its roots in earth and manure.

Love is the flower of life, and blossoms unexpectedly and without law, and must be plucked where it is found, and enjoyed for the brief hour of its duration.

Death is the dropping of the flower, that the fruit may swell.

She danced the dance of flames and fire, _x000D_ _x000D_ and the dance of swords and spears; _x000D_ _x000D_ she danced the dance of stars and the dance of space, _x000D_ _x000D_ and then she danced the dance of flowers in the wind.

At Christmas I no more desire a rose _x000D_ _x000D_ Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth;_x000D_ _x000D_ But like of each thing that in season grows.

Live not one's life as though one had a thousand years, but live each day as the last.

Work on with the intrepidity of a lion but at the same time with the tenderness of a flower.

When I judge art, I take my painting and put it next to a God made object like a tree or flower. If it clashes, it is not art.

Gather the rose of love whilst yet is time.

For winter's rains and ruins are over, And all the season of snows and sins; The days dividing lover and lover, The light that loses, the night that wins; And time remembered isgrief forgotten, And frosts are slain and flowers begotten, And in green underwood and cover Blossom by blossom the spring begins.

You want to give me chocolate and flowers? That would be great. I love them both. I just don't want them out of guilt, and I don't want them if you're not going to give them to all the people who helped mother our children.

I am going to try to pay attention to the spring. I am going to look around at all the flowers, and look up at the hectic trees. I am going to close my eyes and listen.

The sun shines not on us but in us. The rivers flow not past, but through us. Thrilling, tingling, vibrating every fiber and cell of the substance of our bodies, making them glide and sing. The trees wave and the flowers bloom in our bodies as well as our souls, and every bird song, wind song, and tremendous storm song of the rocks in the heart of the mountains is our song, our very own, and sings our love.

As the Arabs say, "The nature of rain is the same, but it makes thorns grow in the marshes and flowers in the gardens.