Quotes About Rose

There's always an Oswald. There's always the husband who takes his wife to Paris for Valentine's Day. Valentine's Day? The rest of us schlubs can barely remember to come home with a single long-stemmed rose. What does he think he's doing? And love is no defense. We don't care how much you love her--you don't do Paris. It's bad for the team.

She collected herself, and rose from the floor. "Until you have a better grasp on what we're dealing with here, I'd appreciate your immediate proximity." I did as she asked. She was the expert, after all. But what a terrifying thought, that the world's foremost expert knew only enough to live in horror.

If Mattel ever makes a Drag Queen Barbie, they damn well ought to pattern that doll's proportions after Sister Rose. Those were legs that could crack a horse's ribs, and they knew how to move.

...the darkness of the hollow in the centre of a wild rose is one glow of orange fire...

Pink is a seashell, Pink is a rose, Pink is a puppy's Tongue and nose. Pink are my cheeks And my bunny's ears; Pink is the sky When sunrise nears...

Time is a seed, a sprout, a bud, A bloom, a flower, a wilting rose, Decay, disappearance, — a seed.

Then they kissed each other, and the young girl wept, and gave him a rose but before she gave it to him she pressed a kiss upon it, a kiss so tender and impassioned that the rose spread its petals.

In the middle of a garden grew a rose tree; it was full of roses, and in the loveliest of them all lived an elf. He was so tiny that no human eye could see him. He had a snug little room behind every petal of the rose. He was as well made and as perfect as any human child, and he had wings reaching from his shoulders to his feet. Oh, what a delicious scent there was in his room, and how lovely and transparent the walls were, for they were palest pink, rose petals.

You experience every moment as equal to the other, for the pure joy of it, like drinking a good wine or, as in the case of the Professor taking a good life. You treasure it the way the tree treasures Buddha, the way a cat prizes the mouse, the rose the sun. You perceive it and let it go, to be what it will.

Hell yes, baby. I can pollinate a rose garden with my smile

She still had a great deal to do, but she was finally on the right track with an incredible, intoxicating blend of rose, tuberose, and jasmine, sandalwood and an amber blend. Inhaling, the romantic scent conjured exquisite joy. The path had come to her in a dream, the melding of sandalwood and patchouli with amber notes of vanillin and labdanum absolute in a manner that was nothing short of exquisite.

Marie chose a parfum and touched her neck with its crystal stopper, trailing it along the length of her neck. She breathed in one of Danielle's finest aldehydic parfums blended of Bulgarian rose and jasmine absolute. It was a masterpiece, with a mysterious, warm sillage of amber and vanilla, extracted from the seed pods of a vining orchid. The result was modern, stylish, and sensual- Danielle's aromatic hallmark.

Music. A flower in a vase on the tray. A January rose, it wouldn't last long, all big and full-blown like that. He loved things like this, fragile, that wouldn't last. She touched its silver-mauve petals, a hundred layers like an old-fashioned petticoat. The Japanese would say that's their elegance, the brevity of their beauty.

O wild dark flower of woman Deep rose of my desire An Eastern wizard made you Of earth and stars and fire.

And the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart

Devant une facade rose, Sur le marbre d'un escalier.

A rose shook in her blood and shadowed her cheeks. Quick breath parted the petals of her lips. They trembled. Some southern wind of passion swept over her and stirred the dainty folds of her dress. I love him, she said simply.

Una rosa se despertó en su sangre y ensombreció sus mejillas. Un agitado aliento separó los pétalos de sus labios, que temblaron. Sobre ella sopló algún viento sur de pasión y movió los delicados pliegos de su vestido

Out of the black cave of time, terrible and swathed in scarlet, rose the image of his sin.

Entonces el ruiseñor voló sobre el rosal que crecía alrededor del reloj de sol.

Her hair clustered around her face like dark leaves round a pale rose.

And warns us to use life's beauty as it blooms. The thorn is spurned when the rose has dropped.

Okay, well, let's do a little reenactment. I'm the gay-looking DiCaprio and you're Rose. You have to keep your eyes open and on my face, or you'll have to let me go and I'll turn into a huge gay Popsicle.

It has been well said that an author who expects results from a first novel is in a position similar to that of a man who drops a rose petal down the Grand Canyon of Arizona and listens for the echo.