Quotes About Flowers

The Butterfly Book," said Jessie. "The Shell Book," said Violet. "The Flower Book," said Henry. "Oh, these three books must belong to a set.

Flowers... are a proud assertion that a ray of beauty outvalues all the utilities of the world.

Spring, when the earth tilts closer to the sun, runs a strict timetable of flowers.

Take one flower that you like and get lots of them. And don't try to 'arrange' them. It's surprisingly hard to do a flower arrangement the way a florist does one. Instead, bunch them all together or put them in a series of small vases all down the table.

FerecaÈ›i luna Într-un coÈ™ cu flori!

It's only the beginning of January, but some daffodils and snowdrops have made it through the earth and stand wetly in little rows by the path. The bus stop is depressing; there's a line of people looking as cold and fragile as the line of flowers [...]

Language doesn't do it justice the body intact yet ready for rebirth The landscape of flowers and secrets left untold

Wicca's temples are flowered-splashed meadows, forest, beaches, and deserts.

The best thing about becoming successful is that you get flowers all the time.

Make use of time, let not advantage slip; Beauty within itself should not be wasted: Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime Rot and consume themselves in little time.

The miracle of your being cannot escape itself. Your thoughts blossom into events. Your beliefs grow as surely in time and space as flowers do.

The smell of flowers was overwhelming. They were all imported, some presumably from vast distances. Arkady saw orchids, chrysanthemums, hydrangeas, roses, and tuberoses, splashes of color against winter's gray.

Thus, flowers cannot be preserved, but their ethereal oil, their essence, with the same smell and the same virtues, can. The conduct that has had correct concepts for its guidance will, in the result, coincide with the reality intended.

The steep tiled roof had grown dark and mossy with age and rain. The triangular wooden frames fitted into the gables were intricately carved, the light that slanted through them and fell in patterns on the floor was full of secrets. Wolves. Flowers. Iguanas. Changing shape as the sun moved through the sky. Dying punctually at Dusk.

The frozen flowers never go away. They hang around somewhere all the time. I think we need to talk about vases. Did you hear the sound of the white flower?

I bought flowers this morning: needed some light but got darkness that grew blacker towards the evening.

And we were married and all the windows were open but the smell of flowers was so thick and sickly sweet. I felt like I might choke to death.

Purpose informed every scene on Earth, the planet that produced life, because every detail there had its benefit, its teleology. True, it did not always--but billions of years of organic labor had accomplished much: thus flowers possessed color for the purpose of attracting insects, and clouds existed for the purpose of dropping rain on pastures and forests. Every form and thing was explained by some benefit...

I was always wild territory buried below manicured lawns and once I had ripped pretty flowers from the careful parts of me unearthed keening once I left the whole damn thing open to the sky I touched a place in me too Wild to ever pull weeds again or water plastic grass again or prop the baby tree with sticks again or call my soul cultivated again I was never going down that way

Just giving someone flowers, or inhaling their sweet aromas, makes us smile and promotes elevated moods, positive thoughts, and eases social encounters.

In the early days of gods and men, the divine trod the earth with mortals, befriended them, ravished them, coupled with them, punished them, tormented them, transformed them into flowers, trees, birds, and bugs, and in all ways interacted, intersected, intertwined, interbred, interpenetrated, and interfered with us.

I think that real friendship always makes us feel such sweet gratitude, because the world almost always seems like a very hard desert, and the flowers that grow there seem to grow against such high odds.

If bees only gathered nectar from perfect flowers, they wouldn't be able to make even a single drop of honey.

Love is when the soul starts to sing and the flowers of your life bloom on their own.