Quotes About Flowers

The ochre-yellow linoleum floor hasn't been scrubbed for some time; splotches of dirt bloom on it like grey pressed flowers.

Dear Sir, I reply, I never had any. Bad sex, that is. It was never the sex, it was the other things, the absence of flowers, the death threats, the eating habits at breakfast. I notice I'm using the past tense.

Every habit he's ever had is still there in his body, lying dormant like flowers in the desert. Given the right conditions, all his old addictions would burst into full and luxuriant bloom. He

Others said May was best, that sweet green time when lilacs bloomed and gardens along Main Street were filled with sugary pink peonies and Dutch tulips.

And some by hours; Some measure days by dreams And some by flowers; My heart alone records My days and hours.

If the English language made any sense, lackadaisical would have something to do with a shortage of flowers.

Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint, And sweet thyme true, Primrose, first born child of Ver, Merry Spring-time's harbinger.

Os mortos recebem mais flores do que os vivos, porque o remorso é mais forte que a gratidão

Dead people recive more flowers than living ones because regret is stronger tha gratitute

the dead reseave more flowers than the living for regret is stronger than gratitude

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.

I do not love to garden. I love other people's gardens, and I like cut flowers. I have Astroturf and a whole lot of high-quality plastic flowers stuck in the dirt of our front yard. These are quite a lovely sight and bring to mind many e. e. cummings poems. People used to give me potted plants and trees, and what happened to them is really too horrible to go into here.

I'd shake my head and not mention that what I love are cut flowers, because this sounds so violent and decadent, like when Salvador Dalí said his favorite animal was fillet of sole.

Words. Borne on the ever swelling current of hatred, like flowers opening in the current, petals peeling back, then falling apart.

from the classically executed lifelike bouquets, tempting you to reach for the petals that fell on a three-dimensional tablecloth, to a new and disturbing style in which the colors seemed to blaze with such intensity they destroyed the old lines, the old solidity, to make a vision like those states which I'm nearest my delirium and flowers grow before my eyes and crackle like the flames of lamps.

Her sobs grew worse, more bitter, until finally I bent and kissed her soft neck and cheeks. Winter plums. Plums from an enchanted wood where the fruit never falls from the boughs. Where the flowers never wither and die.

Maybe all of life has a mind,' she said, her eyes roving over the small room, over the empty tables. 'Maybe the flowers watch us. Maybe the trees think and hate us that we can walk. Or maybe, just maybe they don't care. The horror of Lasher is that he has begun to care!

Carnations, peach and lemon and cherry. Too many people (Europeans, really) consider carnations to be nothing but a vulgar American indulgence, but in my opinion, there is no blossom more intricate, more deliciously, thickly, fragrantly lavish, than a carnation.

We are bombarded with media images of weddings, engagement rings, parties, and flowers, but this is not love. Love is defined by difficult acts of human compassion and generosity.

They make a mess," Jared told her. "Tulip foliage dies and turns an ugly yellow. Pansies aren't hardy. The bloom stalks on lavender drop their buds. Violets seed themselves." His tone of voice made it clear that seeding oneself was a perversion.

Man, Wren. I'm impressed. No woman ever sent flowers to thank me. (Serre) Don't be that impressed. I'm thinking she didn't send flowers to thank him. One flower says thank you. This many says she thought he was dead. Or that she killed him. Hmm...I'm thinking, put a tiger in her tank and that didn't quit rev her up. What she needs is to go hunting for bear. (Dev)

At first, she loved nought else but flowers, And then-she only loved the rose; And then-herself alone; and then- She knew not what, but now-she knows.

Flowers spring to blossom where she walks The careful ways of duty; Our hard, stiff lines of life with her Are flowing curves of beauty.

The continuity of life is never broken; the river flows onward and is lost to our sight, but under its new horizon it carries the same waters which it gathered under ours, and its unseen valleys are made glad by the offerings which are borne down to them from the past,--flowers, perchance, the germs of which its own waves had planted on the banks of Time.