Quotes About Wisteria

In pale moonlight / the wisteria's scent / comes from far away.

The roof of the front porch of the house is covered, for some reason, with moss, and also, on one side, with wisteria, which gives the house a sort of raffish Veronica Lake look, a disheveled charm.

How to distinguish hysteria from wisteria, aftermath from ruin? There's no way to separate this evening from its dusk.

In Massachusetts everything had a faint green aroma, a combination of cucumber, wisteria, dogwood, and peppermint.

A summer rain had left the night clean and sparkling with drops of water. I leaned against the end pillar of the gallery, my head touching the soft tendrils of a jasmine which grew there in a constant battle with a wisteria, and I thought of what lay before me throughout the world and throughout time, and resolved to go about it delicately and reverently, learning that from each thing which would take me best to another.

In pale moonlight the wisteria's scent comes from far away

She offered her mouth to him, as if enchanted. A Persian princess, a little Indian, a fox, a morning glory, a lovely wisteria--it always pleased them when you told them they looked like something, like something else.

Other fragrances are believed to enhance psychic ability—the ability to perceive spirits. These include lilac, rosemary, violet, and wisteria. The fragrance of myrrh is traditionally believed to open portals to spirit realms.

Poured a cup of hot sepia coffee in a wisteria flowered mug, dandelion sunshine spilling through the periwinkle sky.

In pale moonlight / the wisteria's scent / comes from far away.

The estate grounds, like the surrounding farmland, were beautifully maintained, with deep mature hedges and old stone walls covered with climbing roses and soft, fluttery bursts pf purple wisteria. Jasmine and honeysuckle perfumed the air where the carriages came to a slow halt in front of the portico.

Information in the ghetto traveled now like a wisteria vine: twisted, convoluted, and blooming from time to time with unlikely bursts of color.

And–since this willful amnesia had kept Robin's death from being translated into that sweet old family vernacular which smoothed even the bitterest mysteries into comfortable, comprehensible form–the memory of that day's events had a chaotic, fragmented quality, bright mirror-shards of nightmare which flared at the smell of wisteria, the creaking of a clothes-line, a certain stormy cast of spring light.

I come weary, In search of an inn— Ah! These wisteria flowers!

If like the leaf of the wisteria through which the sun darts his rays transparently you give your heart to me, I will no longer distrust you