Bud Quotes - Page 3

• The best way to killing a rose is to force it open when it is still only the promise of a bud.

  Jose Saramago

  Rose, Promise, Way

  "The Cave" by Jose Saramago, tr. Margaret Jull Costa, Vintage, (p. 89), 2003.

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• It's not a question of God 'sending' us to Hell. In each of us there is something growing up which will of itself be Hell unless it is nipped in the bud.

  C. S. Lewis

  Growing Up, Grumbling, Hell

  C. S. Lewis (2003). “A Mind Awake: An Anthology of C. S. Lewis”, p.170, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• Angels in the early morning may be seen the dews among. Stooping, plucking, smiling, flying. Do the buds to them belong?

  Emily Dickinson

  Morning, Angel, Flying

  Emily Dickinson, Cristanne Miller (2016). “Emily Dickinson’s Poems: As She Preserved Them”, p.54, Harvard University Press

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• And so, lifting as we climb, onward and upward we go, struggling and striving, and hoping that the buds and blossoms of our desires will burst into glorious fruition ere long.

  Mary Church Terrell

  Struggle, Onward And Upward, Long

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• The risk it takes to remain tight inside the bud
  is more painful than the risk it takes to blossom.
  We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are.

  Anais Nin

  Life, Risk, Painful

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• Each bud flowers but once and each flower has but its minute of perfect beauty; so, in the garden of the soul each feeling has, as it were, its flowering instant, its one and only moment of expansive grace and radiant kingship.

  Henri Frederic Amiel

  Flower, Garden, Perfect

  Entry for December 30, 1850, "The Journal Intime of Henri-Frédéric Amiel", Book by Henri-Frédéric Amiel, translated by Mary Augusta Ward, 1882.

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• If we cut open the bud of a beautiful rose in order to see how it is 'packed' and what it is going to look like, what sort of a bloom will we get?

  Ian Gardner

  Beautiful, Cutting, Order

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• Thought is the blossom; language the bud; action the fruit behind it.

  Ralph Waldo Emerson

  Positive, Wise, Wisdom

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• We shall therefore take an appropriately correct view of the origin of our life, if we consider our own embryos to have sprung immediately from those embryos whence our parents were developed, and these from the embryos of their parents, and so on for ever. We should in this way look on the nature of mankind, and perhaps on that of the whole animated creation, as one Continuous System, ever pushing out new branches in all directions, that variously interlace, and that bud into separate lives at every point of interlacement.

  Francis Galton

  Views, Parent, Looks

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• Journey’s end In western lands beneath the Sun The flowers may rise in Spring, The trees may bud, the waters run, The merry finches sing. Or there maybe 'tis cloudless night, And swaying branches bear The Elven-stars as jewels white Amid their branching hair. Though here at journey's end I lie In darkness buried deep, Beyond all towers strong and high, Beyond all mountains steep, Above all shadows rides the Sun And Stars for ever dwell: I will not say the Day is done, Nor bid the Stars farewell.J.

  J. R. R. Tolkien

  Running, Strong, Stars

  J. R. R. Tolkien, “Journey's End”

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• Before a leaf-bud has burst, its whole life acts; in the full-blown flower there is no more; in the leafless root there is no less.

  Ralph Waldo Emerson

  Flower, Roots, Leafs

  Ralph Waldo Emerson (2008). “The Spiritual Emerson: Essential Works by Ralph Waldo Emerson”, p.17, Penguin

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• The candle-buds opened their wide white flowers....Their scent spilled out into the air and took possession of the island.

  William Golding

  Flower, Islands, Air

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• Transitions are a part of life, allowing for perpetual renewal. When you experience the end of one chapter, allow yourself to feel the emotions of loss and rebirth. A bud gives way to a new flower, which surrenders to the fruit, which gives rise to a seed, which yields a new sprout. Even as you ride the roller coaster, embrace the centered internal reference of the ever-present witness.

  David Simon

  Flower, Loss, Yield

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• Each opening bud, and care-perfected seed, Is as a page, where we may read of God.

  Almira Hart Lincoln Phelps

  Care, May, Pages

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• Oh no, if you really want to be wicked to him, nuke it first. (Geary) Yeah, but given his reaction to the cupcake, that might overload his taste buds with pleasure and kill him. (Tory)

  Sherrilyn Kenyon

  Cupcakes, Wicked, Taste Buds

  Sherrilyn Kenyon (2007). “The Dream-Hunter”, p.124, Macmillan

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• Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good; a shining gloss that fadeth suddenly; a flower that dies when it begins to bud; a doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower, lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour.

  William Shakespeare

  Beauty, Flower, Glasses

  William Shakespeare (1833). “The plays and poems of William Shakspeare”, p.940

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• Death came with friendly care; The opening bud to heaven conveyed, And bade it blossom there.

  Samuel Taylor Coleridge

  Death, Funeral, Heaven

  'Epitaph on an Infant' (1794)

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• While we only look at Nature it is fair to say that Autumn is the end of the year; but it is still more true that Autumn is the beginning of the year.... Autumn is the time when in fact the leaves bud. Leaves wither because winter begins; but they also wither because spring is already beginning, because new buds are being made, as tiny as percussion caps out of which the spring will crack.... It is only an optical illusion that my flowers die in autumn; for in reality they are born.

  Karel Capek

  Spring, Flower, Autumn

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• Dryness promotes the formation of flower buds...flowering is, after all, not an aesthetic contribution, but a survival mechanism.

  Ann Zwinger

  Flower, Acceptance, Survival

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• The bud disappears when the blossom breaks through, and we might say that the former is refuted by the latter; in the same way when the fruit comes, the blossom may be explained to be a false form of the plant's existence, for the fruit appears as its true nature in place of the blossom.

  Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel

  Break Through, Unity, May

  "The Phenomenology of Mind".

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• All the spring may be hidden in the single bud, and the low ground nest of the lark may hold the joy that is to herald the feet of many rose-red dawns.

  Oscar Wilde

  Spring, Feet, Rose

  Oscar Wilde, Russell Jackson, Ian Small (2000). “The Complete Works of Oscar Wilde: De profundis, "Epistola : in carcere et vinculis"”, p.128, Oxford University Press on Demand

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• The daisy is fair, the day-lily rare, The bud o' the rose as sweet as it's bonnie.

  James Hogg

  Sweet, Rose, Lilies

  James Hogg (1866). “The works of the Ettrick shepherd”, p.430

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• Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt, And cling to faith beyond the forms of faith; She reels not at the storm of warring words; She brightens at the clash of "Yes" and "No"; She sees the best that glimmers through the worst; She feels the sun is hid for the night; She spies the summer through the winter bud; She tastes the fruit before the blossom falls; She hears the lark within the songless egg; She finds the fountain where they wailed "Mirage!"

  Alfred Lord Tennyson

  Summer, Fall, Winter

  Alfred, Lord Tennyson (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of Alfred, Lord Tennyson (Illustrated)”, p.1376, Delphi Classics

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• Until you destroy your body, you don't learn to appreciate it. Treat the body like a temple because the body is so beautiful. If and when you understand your body then you will respect it. The body is like a bud, until the sun rises it will not bloom, until it blooms it will not be beautiful or give perfume. So respect it, take care of it.

  Bikram Choudhury

  Beautiful, Ifs And, Appreciate

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• When the long, varnished buds of beech Point out beyond their reach, And tanned by summer suns Leaves of bright bryony turn bronze, And gossamer floats bright and wet From trees that are their own sunset, Spring, summer, autumn I come here, And what is there to fear? And yet I never lose the feeling That someone else behind is stealing Or else in front has disappeared; Though nothing I have seen or heard, Makes me still walk beneath these boughs With cautious step as in a haunted house.

  Andrew Young

  Summer, Spring, Sunset

  Andrew Young (1963). “Quiet as moss: thirty-six poems”

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