Quotes About Flowers

There is no sun, but a hundred blazing blue stars,each shimmering in a long river of nebulous cloud. The air is warm, pleasant,fragrant with the perfume of a thousand invisible flowers.

Tell me, sir, what is a butterfly? It's what you are meant to become. It flies with beautiful wings and joins the earth to heaven. It drinks only nectar from the flowers and carries the seeds of love from one flower to another. Without butterflies, the world would soon have few flowers.

They were shaken to the depths of them, with the awe of love realized; and was it so very weak of them that they cried for a little peace? They had opened their hearts, like flowers to the springtime, and the merciless winter had fallen upon them?

God will reward you,' he said. 'You must be an angel since you care for flowers.

God will bless you,' said he, 'you are an angel since you take care of the flowers.' 'No,' she replied. 'I am the devil, but that's all the same to me.

Nature is pitiless; she never withdraws her flowers, her music, her fragrance, and her sunlight from before human cruelty or suffering.

What more could he need, this old man whose little leisure was divided between day-time gardening and night-time contemplation? Was not that narrow space with the sky its ceiling room enough for the worship of God in the most delicate of his works and in the most sublime? A garden to walk in and immensity to dream in -what more could he ask? A few flowers at his feet and above him the stars.

At his feet something to cultivate and gather; above his head something to study and meditate on; a few flowers on earth and all the stars in heaven.

winter always carries with it something of our sadness; then April came, that daybreak of summer, fresh like every dawn, gay like every childhood; weeping a little sometimes like the infant that it is. Nature in this month has charming gleams which pass from the sky, the clouds, the trees, the fields, and the flowers, into the heart of man.

There is still a certain grace in a dead festival. It has been happy. Upon those chairs in disarray, among those flowers which are withering, under those extinguished lights, there have been thoughts of joy.

Indeed, is not that all, and what more can be desired? A little garden to walk, and immensity to reflect on. At his feet something to cultivate and gather; above his head something to study and meditate upon: a few flowers on the earth, and all the stars in the sky.

And you will keep me safe and you will keep me close and rain will make the flowers grow.

She went back down to the garden, feeling like a queen, hearing the birds sing—this was in winter—seeing the sky all golden, the sun in the trees, flowers among the shrubs, bewildered, wild, giddy with inexpressible rapture.

what is there left to desire beyond it? A little garden in which to walk, and immensity in which to dream. At one's feet that which can be cultivated and plucked; over head that which one can study and meditate upon: some flowers on earth, and all the stars in the sky.

Poor children cannot enter the public gardens; still, one would think that, as children, they had a right to the flowers.

La nuit fait des distributions d'essence stellaire aux fleurs endormies.

God will reward you, he said. You must be an angel since you care for flowers. I'm no angel, she replied. I'm the devil, but it's all the same to me.

them up. Flowers blooming. A garden Ã¢â'¬Â¦ As she neared the house, the front door opened. A woman came out, wearing a pretty floral-print dress beneath a frilly red apron, and holding a broom. Her bobbed hair was carefully curled and a pair of wireless glasses magnified her eyes.

Everywhere she looked, she saw the rewards of her careful planning and judicious pruning. The beds were a riot of glorious color, with sugary pink saucer-sized roses, ruffled yellow peonies, spiked purple delphinium. The deep green English boxwood she'd taken such time with was well on its way to becoming the bones of the garden.

I love you more than the sun and sky and all the flowers on the earth,

Every wet nurse refused to feed him Electrolytes smell like semen I promise not to sell your perfumed secrets There are countless formulas for pressing flowers

What has been taken from you, it is this that owns you, and you, shell of all joy, must walk through this city as beautiful as the last summer flowers.

O prophet flowers! with lips of bloom, Surpassing, in their beauty, The pearly tints of ocean shells-- Ye teach me faith and duty.

Cultivate simplicity ... or rather should I say banish elaborateness, for simplicity springs spontaneous from the heart, and carries into daylight with it its own modest buds, and genuine, sweet, and clear flowers of expression.