Quotes About Rose

He plucked at a long rose cane that attempted to grab his sleeve as he passed through the gate. "Good morning, my lady. May I give you my arm up the street? I'm engaged to escort this rosebush to the shops, but I'll fob it off.

I shall smile when wreaths of snow Blossom where the rose should grow.

We were made to enjoy music, to enjoy beautiful sunsets, to enjoy looking at the billows of the sea and to be thrilled with a rose that is bedecked with dew… Human beings are actually created for the transcendent, for the sublime, for the beautiful, for the truthful... and all of us are given the task of trying to make this world a little more hospitable to these beautiful things.

I can't tell my dad that there's no way I'm crashing some collegiate party covered in sweat and dirt. I look like a ditch digger, not a Rose & Grave Digger.

Rose doesn't like the flat country, but I always did – flat country seems to give the sky such a chance.

Life isn't all diamonds and rose... but it should be.

Once a blooming red rose, full of streaming life in its veins. Now a wilting black petal rupturing with death and pain.

Every moment of this strange and lovely life from dawn to dusk, is a miracle. Somewhere, always a rose is opening its petals to the dawn. Somewhere, always, a flower is fading in the dusk.

What hast thou against the onion? The odor. Nothing more. Otherwise it is like the rose.

North," said the face beneath the sheet. "I belong to the National Association of Broadcasting Employees and Technicians. If you wake me up before I've slept twelve hours, I get paid short turnaround." "But Rose--" "If you wake me up before seven hours, I get to push a screwdriver into your lungs." — from "The Scarred Man

When she looked at a rose she savoured its beauty, they counted the petals.

Shut up, you brat," interrupted Geralt, smiling nastily "Halt your uncontrolled little tongue. You speak to a lady who deserves respect, especially from a Knight of the White Rose...

I will vanish in the morning light; I was only an invention of darkness. And I leave you as a souvenir the dark, fanged rose I plucked from between my thighs, like a flower laid on a grave.

Rose was a sensitive Apprentice who was aware - some said far too aware - of the Darke.

Ye Christian heralds, go proclaim Salvation through Emmanuel's name; To distant climes the tidings bear, And plant the Rose of Sharon there.

The weak grey light that serves as harbinger of red and golden dawn faintly lit my window. I fumbled for a candle, found and lit it, and by its little light saw that the rose floating in the bowl was dying. It had already lost most of its petals, which floated on the water like tiny, un-seaworthy boats, deserted for safer craft. Dear God, I said. I must go back at once.

The rich smell of the rose was almost visible; I fancied it lent a rosy edge to the shadows cast by the firelight.

And the man clad in black and silver with a silver rose upon him? He would like to think that he has learned something of trust, that he has washed his eyes in some clear spring, that he has polished an ideal or two. Never Mind. He may still be only a smart-mouthed meddler, skilled mainly in the minor art of survival, blind as ever the dungeons knew him to the finer shades of irony. Never mind, let it go, let it be. I may never be pleased with him.

You have preserved your mystery. Rest in peace, if that be your will. I give you this withered rose I have borne through hell, casting it into the abyss. I leave you this rose and the twisted colors of the sky.

Dreamed of maman again. She was telling me—O cruelty!—that I didn't really love her. But I took it calmly, because I was so sure it wasn't true. The idea that death would be a kind of sleep. But it would be horrible if we had to dream eternally. (And this morning, her birthday. I always gave her a rose. Bought two at the little market of Mers Sultan and put them on my desk)

In mapping out his strategy, Rose adopted the GEB model of using Rockefeller money as a catalyst for government cooperation.

The optimist sees the rose and not its thorns; the pessimist stares at the thorns, oblivious to the rose.

Love is the softest rose in the soul's garden.

The effects of the mescalin were already on the decline: but the flowers in the gardens still trembled on the brink of being supernatural, the pepper trees and carobs along the side streets still manifestly belonged to some sacred grove. Eden alternated with Dodona. Yggdrasil with the mystic Rose.