Quotes About Rose

Contre qui, rose, avez-vous adopté ces épines? Votre joie trop fine vous a-t-elle forcée de devenir cette chose armée? Mais de qui vous protège cette arme exagérée? Combien d'ennemis vous ai-je enlevés qui ne la craignaient point? Au contraire, d'été en automne, vous blessez les soins qu'on vous donne.

Je te vois, rose, livre entrebâillé, qui contient tant de pages de bonheur détaillé qu'on ne lira jamais. Livre-mage, qui s'ouvre au vent et qui peut être lu les yeux fermés ..., dont les papillons sortent confus d'avoir eu les mêmes idées.

Une rose seule, c'est toutes les roses et celle-ci: l'irremplaçable, le parfait, le souple vocable encadré par le texte des choses. Comment jamais dire sans elle ce que furent nos espérances, et les tendres intermittences, dans la partance continuelle.

T'appuyant, fraîche claire rose, contre mon oeil fermé -, on dirait mille paupières superposées contre la mienne chaude. Mille sommeils contre ma feinte sous laquelle je rôde dans l'odorant labyrinthe.

Rose, toute ardente et pourtant claire, que l'on devrait nommer reliquaire de Sainte-Rose ..., rose qui distribue cette troublante odeur de sainte nue. Rose plus jamais tentée, déconcertante de son interne paix; ultime amante, si loin d'Ève, de sa première alerte -, rose qui infiniment possède la perte.

Dis-moi, rose, d'où vient qu'en toi-même enclose, ta lente essence impose à cet espace en prose tous ces transports aérien? Combien de fois cet air prétend que les choses le trouent, ou, avec une moue, il se montre amer. Tandis qu'autour de ta chair, rose, il fait la roue.

Salt is added to dried rose petals with the perfume and spices, when we store them away in covered jars, the summers of our past.

Rose petals cast into a fast-moving stream, Plucked from the heart one at a time, Like hopes snatched from a dream, Become memories in the back of your mind.

Rose took my nose, I suppose

Rose took my nose, I suppose," he repeated; the bubble of phlegm in his throat made a disgusting crackle. "And it really blows.

Rose took my nose, I suppose. And it really blows...Get it? It really blows. My nose. Taken by Rose. I suppose.

The question of common sense is always what is it good for? — a question which would abolish the rose and be answered triumphantly by the cabbage.

If you're the first of November, you're Scorpio. A large reporter of his owne Acts. Prudent of behaviour in owne affairs. A lover of Quarrels and theevery, a promoter of frayes and commotions. As wavery as the wind; neither fearing God or caring for Man.' 'Better,' said Lymond coldly, 'to be stung by a nettle than pricked by a rose.

Life was as beautiful as a silky, fresh, sweet-smelling rose, even when that beauty was sometimes complicated by a few thorns.

Tell them dear, that if eyes were made for seeing,Then beauty is its own excuse for beingWhy thou wert there, O rival of the roseI never sought to ask, I never knewBut, in my simple ignorance supposeThe selfsame power that brought me there brought you.

My past experiences have proven to me that there are people who don't want you to know that they do not know. So they hide it through distraction in the form of criticizing other individuals. There are people who hold ill will toward others who have done the work and achieved the things that they have not, dreamers who never put forth the effort required to attain them in their own lives. My book is not for them. It's for you who realize that the thorns are worth the attainment of the rose. The

I was in London for 13 years and I think I only found one good chip shop.

I had seen an English movie musical production of 'Cinderella,' 'The Slipper and the Rose' with Richard Chamberlain, and liked it so much I saw it eight or 10 times.

Tú, tú, eternamente tú, mi corazón hallado en el otoño de una vida angustiada y sin espera. Le diste corazón al universo que se ocultaba en mi, y supiste los cauces de mi alma y recogiste pétalos aislados en la flor del cariño, para prender la rosa que fue tuya desde el azul incierto de un primero de octubre enamorado.

Hic Rhodus, hic salta! Here is the rose, here dance!

A man should not risk his life for beauty alone, Kiall, for that fades. You might as well risk it for a rose. Think on it.

Before man's fall the rose was born,St. Ambrose says, without the thorn;But for man's fault then was the thornWithout the fragrant rose-bud born; But ne'er the rose without the thorn.

A woman's love is like the morning dew. It's just as likely to settle on a horse turd as a rose.

The rose is fairest when 't is budding new, And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears. The rose is sweetest wash'd with morning dew, And love is loveliest when embalm'd in tears.