Quotes About Rose

Love is the world's infinite mutability; lies, hatred, murder even, are all knit up in it; it is the inevitable blossoming of its opposites, a magnificent rose smelling faintly of blood. Tony Kushner, THE ILLUSION

I had to search a moment before spotting the soft glow advancing along the aisles between enemy divisions. It surrounded a child on a big white horse, bearing a standard of red emblazoned with a white rose.

voices rose up everywhere above ripples of unfamiliar music

I don't go to bed every night worried about getting back into baseball.

Don't forget, Beast, true love, both given and received, before the last petal falls.

In the actual world--the painful kingdom of time and place--dwell care, and canker, and fear. With thought, with the ideal, is immortal hilarity, the rose of joy.

What is timea November leaf a child's vacillating mouth a rose a left-over, half-drunk glass of water.

. . .in your light, had I learned to love, here in your beauty, could I speakknowing of this space close withinas the breath held inside a garden rose, there— there is no time.

We may be touched by the most powerful of suppositions--even to a certainty--as we stand in the rose petals of the sun and hear a murmur from the wind no louder than the sound it makes as it dozes under the bee's wings. This, too, I suggest, is the weather, and worthy of report.

But perhaps you're still sleeping. I could wake you with a touch or a kiss. But so could I shake the petals from the wild rose which blossoms so silently and perfectly, and I do not.

No matter what night preceded it, she had never known a morning when she did not feel the rose of a quiet excitement that became a tightening energy on her body and a hunger for action in her mind - because this was the beginning of a day and it was a day of HER life.

Our love is like a red, red rose... and I am a little thorny.

The Sick Rose O Rose, thou art sick. The invisible worm That flies in the night In the howling storm Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy, And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy.

Oh love, rose made wet by mermaids and foams, fire that dances and climbs up the invisible stairs and awakens the blood in the tunnel of sleeplessness.

Love is the world's infinite mutability; lies, hatred, murder even, are all knit up in it; it is the inevitable blossoming of its opposites, a magnificent rose smelling faintly of blood.

The fountain of love is the rose and the lily, the sun and the dove.

Love is a rose But you better not pick it. It only grows When it's on the vine. Handful of thorns And you'll know you missed it. You lose your love When you say the word MINE.

Who but knows How it goes! Life's a last year's Nightingale, Love's a last year's rose.

Love is like a rose, the joy of all the earth.

With the rose the butterfly's deep in love, A thousand times hovering round; But round himself, all tender like gold, The sun's sweet ray is hovering found.

Gather therefore the Rose, whilst yet is prime, For soon comes age, that will her pride deflower: Gather the Rose of love, whilst yet is time.

She was white, perhaps too white. Her eyes, which were almost always cast down, when she raised them testified to the purest of souls, and when she smiled, revealing her small, white teeth, one might be tempted to say that a rose is merely a plant, and ivory just an elephant's tusk.

Finally there was a thick, warm cloak with a red clasp shaped like a rose. Grimalkin must have had these made in the County and hidden them among her own possessions. I was still half asleep; the last thing I wanted

A countess, eh?" Mr. Cameron, into whose ear trumpet the news had duly been shouted, had begun to wheeze with unaccustomed and silent laughter. He knew, now, what to call his new rose, and the joke—obscure, private, pointless—was just the kind he particularly enjoyed.