Quotes About Bloom

Morning sunrise wakes me up with rays of hope. Clouds of fear can hide the sun but not for long. If rays of hope are strong and patience is a song, then hope will bloom and rain will bring a rainbow.

Sunlight filtered through the glass panes from the waters above, waking the feathery tube worms clustered around the room. They burst into bloom, daubing the walls yellow, cobalt blue, and magenta. The golden rays warmed fronds of seaweed anchored to the floor. They shimmered in the glass of a tall gilt mirror and glinted off the polished coral walls. A

Love is like the wild rose-briar; Friendship like the holly-tree. The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms, but which will bloom most constantly?

A friend told me that teenage girls are always looking for someone to pin their dreams on. That doesn't make it any less weird though.

The life of the individual believer, his personal salvation, and personal Christian graces have their being, bloom and fruitage in prayer.

As a young mom I was kind of desperate for some happy family moments and I realized that they don't usually show up all on their own, you have to create them - or at the very least, create an opportunity for them to bloom.

The Tea Party folks may be sincere, loyal citizens, but their notions about how the economy works are exactly that: mere notions. Their core notion is that government needs to do nothing more than get out of the way of business in order for the economy to boom and bloom.

The Avenue, so called by the Newbridge people, was a stretch of road four or five hundred yards long, completely arched over with huge, wide-spreading apple-trees, planted years ago by an eccentric old farmer. Overhead was one long canopy of snowy fragrant bloom. Below the boughs the air was full of a purple twilight and far ahead a glimpse of painted sunset sky shone like a great rose window at the end of a cathedral aisle.

Nature is neutral. Man has wrested from nature the power to make the world a desert or make the deserts bloom. There is no evil in the atom; only in men's souls.

And in my flower-beds, I think, Smile the carnation and the pink.

Let your Life be a garden of peace and your smile be a bloom of flowers.

Joseph would reach out to me occasionally, the same way the desert blooms a flower every now and then. You get so used to the subtleties of beige and Brown, and then a sunshine-yellow poppy bursts from the arm of a prickly pear.

The calla lilies are in bloom again. Such a strange flower—suitable to any occasion. I carried them on my wedding day, and now I place them here in memory of something that has died.

The sweetness of life lies in usefulness, like honey deep in the heart of a clover bloom.

THE AIR SMELLS LIKE HONEYSUCKLES and summer days that go on and on. It is the perfect day to get married. I don't think there's any place prettier than Virginia in June. Everything in bloom, everything green and sunny and hopeful.

Unlike his father, however, his self-confidence was a fragile bloom, easily crushed.

The firmament is blue forever, and the Earth Will long stand firm and bloom in spring But, man, how long will you live?

Vengeance in bloom shone in her eyes and smiled on her lips.

Undoubtedly, a thing forever blooming is the soul, no matter how barren the soil. And only through that frightening abyss of the unknown self does the mind root out the light upon which it nourishes.

Life comes before literature, as the material always comes before the work. The hills are full of marble before the world blooms with statues.

How can you look at Nieva, How can on the bridges you rise? With a reason I'm sad since the time You appeared before my eyes. Sharp are black angels' wings, The last judgment is coming soon, And raspberry fires, like roses, In the white snow bloom.

Beauty makes me hopeless. I don't care why anymore I just want to get away. When I look at the city of Paris I long to wrap my legs around it. When I watch you dancing there is a heartless immensity like a sailor in a dead-calm sea. Desires as round as peaches bloom in me all night, I no longer gather what falls.

Why should I be unhappy? Every parcel of my being is in full bloom.

I stared at her, thinking: of course, how would she know about bitterness, how would she know about the artist at all? caught in a mystery for which he must find some answer, both for himself and for his fellow men, a mystery of good and evil, of blossom and rot — the mystery of a world which learns too late, which is the mold, and which the bloom . . .