Quotes About Rose

That was like a hand clapped against Rose's chest, not to hurt, but astonish her, to take her breath away .

But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd Than that which withering on the virgin thorn Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness.

The rose petal floats on water. The kingfisher flashes above the pond. Life and beauty swirl in the midst of death.

The force that through the green fuse drives the flowerDrives my green age; that blasts the roots of treesIs my destroyer.And I am dumb to tell the crooked roseMy youth is bent by the same wintry fever.

My tears are like the quiet drift Of petals from some magic rose; And all my grief flows from the rift Of unremembered skies and snows.

But Love cannot understand this. He cannot comprehend another's infinity; he is conscious only of his own—flying sunbeam, falling rose, pebble that asks for one quiet plunge below the fretting interplay of space and time. He knows that he will survive at the end of things, and be gathered by Fate as a jewel from the slime, and be handed with admiration round the assembly of the gods.

The first rose on my rose-tree Budded, bloomed, and shattered, During sad days when to me Nothing mattered. Grief of grief has drained me clean; Still it seems a pity No one saw,—it must have been Very pretty.

AUTUMN CHANT Now the autumn shudders In the rose's root, Far and wide the ladders Lean among the fruit. Now the autumn clambers Up the trellised frame And the rose remembers The dust from which it came. Brighter than the blossom On the rose's bough Sits the wizened, orange, Bitter berry now; Beauty never slumbers; All is in her name; But the rose remembers The dust from which it came.

Close not thy hand upon the innocent joy That trusts itself within thy reach. It may Or may not linger. Thou canst but destroy The wingèd wanderer. Let it go or stay. Love thou the rose, yet leave it on its stem. Think! Midas starved by turning all to gold.

The desert shall rejoice, and blossom as the rose.

Each fairy breath of summer, as it blows with loveliness, inspires the blushing rose.

Stone houses, terrace walls, city walls, streets. Plant any rose and you hit four or five big ones. All the Etruscan sarcophagi with likenesses of the dead carved on top in realistic, living poses must have come out of the most natural transference into death they could imagine. After lifetimes of dealing with stone, why not, in death, turn into it?

A Leprecaun without a pot of gold is like a rose without perfume, a bird without a wing, or an inside without an outside.

Shall we evoke Morocco with a rose and lilac shoe?

A MAN FINDS happiness so fleetingly, like the petals melting off a prairie rose. Even as you touch that feeling it dries up, leaving only the dust of that emotion, a powder of hope.

All the Beyond was hers with its possibilities lurking rosily in the oncoming years--each year a rose of promise to be woven into an immoral chaplet.

Please don't miss me too much. Please don't be too sad. Find someone else to love, because you have much love to give and it's a gift that shouldn't be wasted. You , Jesse, were the rose that made my life sweet.I will wait for you in heaven.

The extraordinary mystique of hers made you think she lived on rose petals and listened to nothing but Mozart, but it wasn't true. She was quite funny and ribald. She could tell a dirty joke. She played charades with a great sense of fun and vulgarity, and she could be quite bitchy.

You English words? I know you: You are light as dreams, Tough as oak, Precious as gold, As poppies and corn, Or an old cloak: Sweet as our birds To the ear, As the burnet rose In the heat Of Midsummer

Just as rose smells; similarly, every object, fragrances such as its origin since that defines real and fake identity.

The constitution is like a rose; foreign policy is its fragrance that flies freely everywhere, and everyone feels equally beyond restrictions. Sure, such context carries beauty, dignity, self-determination, freedom, and success; otherwise, the sting of thorns becomes a painful risk.

The most of people, value for liking rose. But a very few want to become like a rose.

Once I had a rose named after me and I was very flattered. But I was not pleased to read the description in the catalogue: "No good in a bed, but fine up against a wall.

My father had extravagant notions of my beauty, grace, wit, and charm.