A bud is a flower-to-be. A flower in waiting. Waiting for just the right warmth and care to open up. It's a little fist of love waiting to unfold and be seen by the world. And that's you.
Don't try to force anything. Let life be a deep let-go. God opens millions of flowers everyday without forcing their buds
Things bloosom in their time. They bud and bloom, blossom and fade. Everything in its time.
A flower is not better when it blooms than when it is merely a bud; at each stage it is the same thing — a flower in the process of expressing its potential.
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet
It takes courage to push yourself to places you have never been before... to test your limits... to break through barriers. And the day came when the risk it took to stay tight inside the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.
One day I shall burst my bud of calm and blossom into hysteria.
Never yet was a springtime, when the buds forgot to bloom.
Gather the flowers, but spare the buds.
There can be no barrenness in full summer. The very sand will yield something. Rocks will have mosses, and every rift will have its wind-flower, and every crevice a leaf; while from the fertile soil will be reared a gorgeous troop of growths, that will carry their life in ten thousand forms, but all with praise to God. And so it is when the soul knows its summer. Love redeems its weakness, clothes its barrenness, enriches its poverty, and makes its very desert to bud and blossom as the rose.
I think of the flower in the bud: huddled, compressed, dark. Yet somehow it feels the night, knows moon from sun. It waits...waits.
The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flower.
Each one of us has it in themselves to be a free spirit, just as every rose bud has in it a rose.
And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.
A word is a bud attempting to become a twig. How can one not dream while writing? It is the pen which dreams. The blank page gives the right to dream.
The bud of victory is always in the truth.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May.
But we have only begun to love the earth. We have only begun to imagine the fullness of life. How could we tire of hope?-so much is in bud.
A day, a livelong day, is not one thing but many. It changes not only in growing light toward zenith and decline again, but in texture and mood, in tone and meaning, warped by a thousand factors of season, of heat or cold, of still or multi winds, torqued by odors, tastes, and the fabrics of ice or grass, of bud or leaf or black-drawn naked limbs. And as a day changes so do its subjects, bugs and birds, cates, dogs, butterflies and people.
The best way to killing a rose is to force it open when it is still only the promise of a bud.
I still do a bit of this and a bit of that. Some brews and there's nothing wrong with a bud or two!
You have first an instinct, then an opinion, then a knowledge, as the plant has root, bud, and fruit.
The daisy is fair, the day-lily rare, The bud o' the rose as sweet as it's bonnie.
A rhododendron bud lavender-tipped. Soon a glory of blooms to clash with the cardinals and gladden the hummingbirds!
All our progress is an unfolding, like the vegetable bud. You have first an instinct, then an opinion, then a knowledge, as the plant has root, bud, and fruit. Trust the instinct to the end, though you can render no reason. It is vain to hurry it. By trusting it to the end it shall ripen into truth, and you shall know why you believe.
Follow AzQuotes on Facebook, Twitter and Google+. Every day we present the best quotes! Improve yourself, find your inspiration, share with friends
or simply: