Quotes about roses

A true poet does not bother to be poetical. Nor does a nursery gardener scent his roses.

My favourite flowers are English country roses - I had a bouquet of them for my wedding.

There were crimson roses on the bench they looked like splashes of blood.

She hated the way roses smelled, their sweetness too fragile. She wanted a garden of evergreens. A garden of stones. A garden of swords.

Despite the weight of the world on my shoulders, the temptation to stop and smell the supernatural roses tugged on my sleeves a time or two.

It takes a loyal gardener to tend roses.

To ‘stop and smell the roses’ we must first believe that there’s a rose garden out there somewhere. And in this jaded world of ours, the refusal to believe in gardens leaves most of us ref of roses.

I'll catch any rose in my vase-shaped heart, then process it through my vascular system, until there's nothing left.

Roses," she thought sardonically, "All trash, m’dear.

The Scarcity of Flowers in the society made guys settle for weeds and grasses.... Trust me i'll rather import a Rose than being contended with thorns.

I believe in roses. Oh God, yes! I do believe in roses! And I believe in lots and lots and lots of them, too!

Someone heroic and valiant, not merely skilled in speech; someone who is kind and pure in heart. Someone who does not play with white roses that belong to others.

It was June, and the world smelled of roses. The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside.

He picked up one of Lorna's roses and set it in my lap. "Here." I picked it up and smelled it. He poked me in the shoulder. "See what I mean? Thorns don't stop you from sniffing. Or putting them in a vase on the kitchen table. You work around them.... Cause the rose is worth it... Think what you'd miss.

Can anyone remember love? It's like trying to summon up the smell of roses in a cellar. You might see a rose, but never the perfume.

My life is part humor, part roses, part thorns.

I assume everything I do in life is gonna be a failure, and then if it turns up roses, then I'm psyched.

One of the most tragic things I know about human nature is that all of us tend to put off living. We are all dreaming of some magical rose garden over the horizon instead of enjoying the roses that are blooming outside our windows today.

Sweeter than the perfume of roses is a reputation for a kind, charitable, unselfish nature; a ready disposition to do to others any good turn in your power.

The guy who enters pro sports hasn't run scared from the 7th grade on. Until he enters the pros, it's been nothing but roses.

We may pass violets looking for roses. We may pass contentment looking for victory.

I've sent you roses many times. I've held your hand in mine

When you transplant a rose, transplant the reddest one.

«And in the end» said the witch to the drowning prince «You've been the one choosing the thornless path in spite of knowing where it could lead. The one who afraid of the pricking roses, plunged himself into an abyss without petals

Love was not the point and pity was a poor man's pride.

A vampire is like a Rose. They are beautiful, yet harmful.

Until we’re pushing up daisies, it might be good to remind ourselves daily that everything’s coming up roses — for me and for you.

when i speak to youi speak as thoughi am offering a rosein your hand.

And the shower of roses spun around me, inviting me to take part in their ever-present waltz.

I feel as if I had opened a book and found roses of yesterday sweet and fragrant, between its leaves.

I relinquished myself to existence pure and simple, thinking absolutely nothing—as if my mind were merely an echo chamber for the music, as if it contained only ether or at most a vaguely pleasant odor as of roses preserved between the pages of a book, their significance long forgotten. The tongue of the road gobbled me up and I allowed myself to sink like a tasty mouthful all the way to the bottom of a marvelous, rejuvenating vacuity. Later, it would occur to me it’s the emptiness we mistakenly

The rose has toldIn one simplicityThat never lifeRelinquishes a bloomBut to bestowAn ancient confidence.

It was nearing 9 O'clock, and the fist duck was drawing down. Behind the trees, the first star pricked out, low and brilliant. The light breeze of the day had dropped, and the evening was very still. The stream sounded loud. I walked down to the gate and stood leaning on the top bar, enjoying the scent of the roses, and straining to listen for any sound from the lane or the road beyond.

Roses and thorns are parts of the same plant. Somehow though, some people are concerned mainly about the roses. The rose is not on the plant for more than a week, but the thorns are there forever.Roses are teaching that the beauty of life will bloom, once you have taught yourself the lessons given by living with the thorns.

Black,The death of an old habit in order for anew journey to start. The dark cloudsdisappeared, chased away by the brilliant shine of your smile. So that I had the courage to be me once again…~Riley

Alexandra took the rose and lifted it to her face. The fragrance was intoxicating and the soft petals tickled her lips, as they must have done Benedict’s. It was as if he had kissed her. A shiver of delight caressed her body and she felt the warmth of a blush on her throat and cheeks.

Some people are always grumbling because roses have thorns I am thankful that thorns have roses.

As you walk down the fairway of life you must smell the roses, for you only get to play one round.

It will never rain roses: when we want to have more roses we must plant more trees.

Won't you come into the garden? I would like my roses to see you.

Rock 'n' Roll, no roses or gardening.

'A Court of Thorns and Roses' was actually inspired by three of my all-time-favorite fairy/folktales: 'Beauty and the Beast,' 'East of the Sun, West of the Moon' and 'Tam Lin.' I got the kernel of inspiration by wondering: 'What if 'Beauty' was a huntress?'

Roses are red, violets are blue, I'm schizophrenic, and so am I.

Marriage is like life - it is a field of battle, not a bed of roses.

When a man has been consistently battering his wife, he shouldn't expect a bouquet of roses from her the morning after he promises to stop.

Everything's coming up roses - for me.

I love bringing roses to a woman when she least expects it.

I can't have white roses. They symbolize death.

I was a big Guns N' Roses fan when I was seven. My friend who lived across the street had long dark curly hair and I had long blonde hair, so I'd dress up as Axl and she'd be Slash, and we'd rock out in front of the mirror singing 'Patience.'

If the Age of Sport has been all champagne and roses hitherto, then expect our love affair with its newly-acquired prominence to become increasingly tainted by scandals about cheating. Sport is losing its shine and allure.

When I finished the trilogy of 'Pirates of the Caribbean' movies, I had a gear shift and thought, 'I need to take a moment to smell the roses.'

I love to prune my roses. That's the one thing I really feel I do pretty well. Other things I usually, because I travel so much, leave to my gardeners who know what I love. But I do love to prune them, because you forget everything else. It's like if you're a painter, you can forget everything else while you're doing it.

But aesthetics is not religion, and the origins of religion lie somewhere completely different. They lie anyway, these roses smell too sweet and the deep roar of the breaking waves is too splendid, to do justice to such weighty matters now.

Nobody's life is a bed of roses. We all have crosses to bear, and we all just do our best. I would never claim to have the worst situation. There are many widows, and many people dying of AIDS, many people killed in Lebanon, people starving all over the planet. So we have to count our lucky stars.

Decide who you are and what your goals entail - then go for the roses. Life has little regard for those who waste time.

As for Guns N' Roses, I don't think there's ever a chance of a reunion.

....it struck her that that perhaps everyone had the ability to see themselves in others. Even in the rocks. Even in the roses.

For every thorn is just as essential to the longevity of the plant as the blossoms.

Maybe there's a whole other universe where a square moon rises in the sky, and the stars laugh in cold voices, and some of the triangles have four sides, and some have five, and some have five raised to the fifth power of sides. In this universe there might grow roses which sing. Everything leads to everything.

Every summer, like the roses, childhood returns.

you wereand always will bethat first ever touchto have fertilizedthe groundbeneath my life’s treesthat first ever roseto have fragrancedthe rest of my memories.

Life is uncertain.Today you get a rose.Tomorrow you feel the thorns.But the end result is red, always!!

Then the wind came in with Bart and blew the vase of roses from the table. I stood and stared down at the crystal pieces and the petals scattered about. Why was the wind always trying to tell me something? Something I didn't want to hear!

It's easy to take the time to stop and smell the roses but one must be willing to give of themselves enough to also stop to admire and understand life's weeds. Colleen Dougherty 10/2015

It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.

You're beautiful, but you're empty...One couldn't die for you. Of course, an ordinary passerby would think my rose looked just like you. But my rose, all on her own, is more important than all of you together, since she's the one I've watered. Since she's the one I put under glass, since she's the one I sheltered behind the screen. Since she's the one for whom I killed the caterpillars (except the two or three butterflies). Since she's the one I listened to when she complained, or when she boast

She cast her fragrance and her radiance over me. I ought never to have run away from her... I ought to have guessed all the affection that lay behind her poor little stratagems. Flowers are so inconsistent! But I was too young to know how to love her...

For millions of years flowers have been producing thorns. For millions of years sheep have been eating them all the same. And it's not serious, trying to understand why flowers go to such trouble to produce thorns that are good for nothing? It's not important, the war between the sheep and the flowers? It's no more serious and more important than the numbers that fat red gentleman is adding up? Suppose I happen to know a unique flower, one that exists nowhere in the world except on my planet, on

True love is like little roses, sweet, fragrant in small doses.

Roses! I swear you men have all your romance from the same worn book. Flowers are a good thing, a sweet thing to give a lady. But it is always roses, always red, and always perfect hothouse blooms when they can come by them.

If I say your voice is an amber waterfall in which I yearn to burn each day, if you eat my mouth like a mystical rose with powers of healing and damnation, If I confess that your body is the only civilization I long to experience… would it mean that we are close to knowing something about love?

An idealist is one who, on noticing that a rose smells better than a cabbage, concludes that it makes a better soup.

With its leaves so rich and heavy with elation and its crimson face made brighter with visions of divinity the shadow of a certain rose looks just like an angel eating light.

. . .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.

If you can love all who've betrayed you... you can taste sweetness in everything.

I was mortified that I could spend a lifetime with someone and not know them at all—that I could love someone so blindly and never question who they really were. Was it stupidity? Or is that merely what love actually is—to see the good, to love the good and wonderful and ignore the rest? I think that is what I used to believe…I don’t believe that anymore.Love is seeing every damn rotten thing about someone and loving them anyway. It’s not being too afraid to look deep inside another person and s

The point is to turn your grief into love. The roses are helping you find grace.

Beauty and love pass, I know... Oh, there's sadness, too. I suppose all great happiness is a little sad. Beauty means the scent of roses and then the death of roses-

I believe in roses. And I believe in putting roses into a vase and sitting the vase on the table. I believe in getting lost and being found, I believe in going barefoot, and in laughter! My religion is to laugh at myself, whenever I can! I believe in the sunlight and in grey skies with big, beautiful clouds!

Lords of melody and song,Lords of roses burning bright,Blue will right the ancient wrong,Though the way is dark and long,Blue will shine with loving light.

Every new dayOur children's joy is as fresh as roses,Even the birds chatter at dawn.

When we are smitten, we await love to be “remontant” and to be blooming over and over again”, like remontant roses, with blossoms scenting through all the seasons of life. Passion and patience are to be good allies, though.

The roses started him thinking, how the oddity of them was beautiful and how that oddity was contrived to give them value. “It just struck me – clear and complete all at once – no long figuring about it.” He realized that children could be designed. “And I thought to myself, now that would a rose garden worthy of a man’s interest.”We children would smile and hug him and he would grin around at us and send the twins for a pot of cocoa from the drink wagon and me for a bag of popcorn because the r

As we come marching, marching, we battle too for men,For they are women's children, and we mother them again.Our lives shall not be sweated from birth until life closes;Hearts starve as well as bodies; give us bread, but give us roses!

Love is the only thing in this whole universe, that can make the roses grow out of the swords.

Live in Thorns but always enchant the hearts with your fragrance

The SleepingI have imagined all this:In 1940 my parents were in loveAnd living in the loft on West 10thAbove Mark Rothko who painted cabbage rosesOn their bedroom walls the night they got married.I can guess why he did it.My mother’s hair was the color of yellow applesAnd she wore a velvet hat with her pajamas.I was not born yet. I was remote as starlight.It is hard for me to imagine thatMy parents made love in a roomful of rosesAnd I wasn’t there.But now I am. My mother is blushing.This is the

My tomb shall be in a spot where the north wind may scatter roses over it.

You think too much of your "toilette", Adele; but you may have a flower." I took a rose from a vase and fastened it in her sash. She sighed a sign of ineffable satisfaction, as if her cup of happiness were now full. I turned my face away to conceal a smile I could not suppress; there was something ludicrous as well as painful in the little Parisienne's earnest and innate devotion to matters of dress.

Love is like the wild rose-briar; Friendship like the holly-tree. The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms, but which will bloom most constantly?

Shamrocks And roses In an ever green flock Now Up to your noses Turning into a high stock! People nice and seen All around you green! These lucky streams Realizing major dreams. In strives, when in pain Call oh call up my name, Know it isn't in vain...

I'd love to wake up to complete silence, white sheets, and the smell of crisp air and roses.

Lucy happily settled down to work. First she sent for papyrus and handmade a book leaf by leaf, binding the leaves together between board covers. Then she filled each page from memory, drew English roses budding and Chinese roses in full bloom, peppercorn-pink Bourbon roses climbing walls and silvery musk roses drowsing in flowerbeds. She took every rose she'd ever seen, made them as lifelike as she could (where she shaded each petal the rough paper turned silken), and in these lasting forms she

I like to think that love is like a rose. A rose that is beginning to sprout is like a person feeling love for the first time. It will grow in time as the couples interact and along the way, they may hurt themselves by the thorns of pain and misunderstanding. But it is all worth it to see the rose in full bloom as the two share their true love.What happens after that is unknown. The rose may last forever and create others, or it may wither away and start anew.

Did you hear about the rose that grew from a crack in the concrete? Proving nature's laws wrong, it learned to walk without having feet. Funny, it seems to by keeping it's dreams; it learned to breathe fresh air. Long live the rose that grew from concrete when no one else even cared.

Women show men beauty in things beyond their ambitions. Women tell men to stop and smell the roses.

Women Are Not RosesWomen have no beginningonly continualflows.Though rivers flowwomen are notrivers.Women are notrosesthey are not oceansor stars.i would like to tellher this buti think shealready knows.

What a lovely thing a rose is!"He walked past the couch to the open window and held up the drooping stalk of a moss-rose, looking down at the dainty blend of crimson and green. It was a new phase of his character to me, for I had never before seen him show any keen interest in natural objects. "There is nothing in which deduction is so necessary as religion," said he, leaning with his back against the shutters. "It can be built up as an exact science by the reasoner. Our highest assurance of the

The bright flower was like a face. Somehow, the beauty and life of it were surprising in the plain room, like a gay little child who might suddenly appear in a doorway.