Flower Quotes - Page 22

• At a well in a yard they met a man who was beating a boy. The stick burst into a flower in the mans hand. He tried to drop it, but it stuck to his hand. His arm became a branch, his body the trunk of a tree, his feet took root.

  C. S. Lewis

  Boys, Men, Hands

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• Blue as the evening sky, blue as cranesbill flowers, blue as the lips of drowned men and the heart of a blaze burning with too hot a flame. Yes, sometimes it was hot in this world, too. Hot and cold, light and dark, terrible and beautiful, it was everything all at once. It wasn't true that you felt nothing in the land of Death. You felt and heard and smelled and saw, but your heart remained strangely calm, as if it were resting before the dance began again. Peace. Was that the word?

  Cornelia Funke

  Beautiful, Heart, Dark

  Cornelia Funke (2011). “Inkdeath”, p.230, Scholastic Inc.

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• Man corrupt everything, say Shug. He on your box of grits, in your head, and all over the radio. He try to make you think he everywhere. Soon as you think he everywhere, you think he God. But he ain't. Whenever you trying to pray, and man plop himself on the other end of it, tell him to git lost, say Shug. Conjure up the flowers, wind, water, a big rock.

  Alice Walker

  Men, Thinking, Rocks

  Alice Walker (2012). “Anything We Love Can Be Saved: A Writer's Activism”, p.31, Ballantine Books

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• Trout, incidentally, had written a book about a money tree. It had twenty-dollar bills for leaves. Its flowers were government bonds. Its fruit was diamonds. It attracted human beings who killed each other around the roots and made very good fertilizer.

  Kurt Vonnegut

  Book, Government, Roots

  KURT VONNEGUT, JR (1969). “SLAUGHTERHOUSE-FIVE”

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• Max Rose: Vo? What kind of name is that? Spader: What kind of name is Rose? Isn't that some kind of flower?

  D. J. MacHale

  Names, Rose, Max

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• The possibility that hope comes out of hopelessness and that the opposite of things carry the seeds of birth - love out of hate, good out of evil. Didn't flowers grow out of dirt?

  Robert Cormier

  Hate, Opposites, Evil

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• Maybe we can comprehend a flower or an insect, but we can never comprehend ourselves. Even less can we expect to comprehend the universe.

  Jostein Gaarder

  Insects, Universe

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• But where I itty now, O my brothers, is all on my oddy knocky, where you cannot go. Tomorrow is all like sweet flowers and the turning vonny earth and the stars and the old Luna up there. ... And all that cal.

  Anthony Burgess

  Sweet, Brother, Stars

  Anthony Burgess (2012). “A Clockwork Orange (Restored Text)”, p.204, W. W. Norton & Company

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• This life of ours...human life is like a flower gloriously blooming in a meadow: along comes a goat, eats it up---no more flower.

  Anton Chekhov

  Life Is Like, Blooming, Goats

  Anton Chekhov (2006). “The Major Plays”, p.28, Penguin

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• We think a flower on a cliff is beautiful Because we stop our feet at the cliff's edge Unable to step out into the sky Like that fearless flower --Sosuke Aizen,Flower on the Precipice

  Tite Kubo

  Beautiful, Thinking, Sky

  "Bleach". Manga series by Tite Kubo, August 20, 2001 – August 22, 2016.

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• You are an educated man. You know there are no such things as demons." Bast smiled a terrible smile. "There is only my kind." Bast leaned closer still, Chronicler smelled flowers on his breath. "You are not wise enough to fear me as I should be feared. You do not know the first note of the music that moves me.

  Patrick Rothfuss

  Wise, Moving, Men

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• Flowers spring to blossom where she walks The careful ways of duty; Our hard, stiff lines of life with her Are flowing curves of beauty.

  John Greenleaf Whittier

  Spring, Curves, Lines

  John Greenleaf Whittier (2012). “Narrative and Legendary Poems, Complete Volume I., the Works of Whittier”, p.207, tredition

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• A thousand plastic flowers don't make a desert bloom. A thousand empty faces don't fill an empty room".

  Frederick Salomon Perls

  Empty Rooms, Desert, Faces

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• Once I spoke the language of the flowers, Once I understood each word the caterpillar said, Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings, And shared a conversation with the housefly in my bed. Once I heard and answered all the questions of the crickets, And joined the crying of each falling dying flake of snow, Once I spoke the language of the flowers. . . . How did it go? How did it go?

  Shel Silverstein

  Fall, Snow, Gossip

  Shel Silverstein, “Forgotten Language”

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• You know what I think? I think that if a young woman doesn't engage in the act of occasionally wishing on a star or a flower or a birthday cake full of candles, then we're forfeiting one of the sweetest whimsies of our youth.

  Robin Jones Gunn

  Stars, Thinking, Cake

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• Remembering our past, carrying it around with us always, may be the necessary requirement for maintaining, as they say, the wholeness of the self. To ensure that the self doesn’t shrink, to see that it holds on to its volume, memories have to be watered like potted flowers, and the watering calls for regular contact with the witnesses of the past, that is to say, with friends. They are our mirror; our memory; we ask nothing of them but that they polish the mirror from time to time so we can look at ourselves in it.

  Milan Kundera

  Memories, Past, Mirrors

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• There is nothing in your budget for joy. No books, no flowers, no music, not even a cold beer. And there is nothing in your budget to give away to someone else. We don’t help people who don’t have better values than you do.

  Robert Fulghum

  Book, Beer, People

  Robert Fulghum (2004). “All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten: Uncommon Thoughts on Common Things”, p.95, Ballantine Books

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• Lady, lady, never start Conversation toward your heart; Keep your pretty words serene; Never murmur what you mean. Show yourself, by word and look, Swift and shallow as a brook. Be as cool and quick to go As a drop of April snow; Be as delicate and gay As a cherry flower in May. Lady, lady, never speak Of the tears that burn your cheek- She will never win him, whose Words had shown she feared to lose. Be you wise and never sad, You will get your lovely lad. Never serious be, nor true, And your wish will come to you- And if that makes you happy, kid, You'll be the first it ever did.

  Dorothy Parker

  Wise, Heart, Mean

  Dorothy Parker, “The Lady's Reward”

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• When a woman's face is wrinkled And her hairs are sprinkled, With gray, Lackaday! Aside she's cast, No one respect will pay; Remember, Lasses, remember. And while the sun shines make hay: You must not expect in December, The flowers you gathered in May.

  Ann Rinaldi

  Hair, Shining, Hay

  Ann Rinaldi (2004). “Or Give Me Death: A Novel of Patrick Henry's Family”, p.154, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• Thunder rumbled. My heart beat faster. I turned away from Evernight for the last time and looked back at the flower as it trembled upon its branch. A single petal was torn away by the wind. Pushing my hands through the thorns, I felt lashes of pain across my skin, but i kept going determined. But when my fingertip touched the flower, it instantly darkened, withering and drying as each petal turned black.

  Claudia Gray

  Pain, Heart, Hands

  Claudia Gray (2010). “Evernight (Evernight, Book 1)”, p.7, HarperCollins UK

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• Sweet as the tender fragrance that survives, When martyred flowers breathe out their little lives, Sweet as a song that once consoled our pain, But never will be sung to us again, Is they remembrance. Now the hour of rest Hath come to thee. Sleep, darling: it is best.

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  Song, Sweet, Pain

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Illustrated)”, p.994, Delphi Classics

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• All around me darkness gathers, Fading is the sun that shone, We must speak of other matters, You can be me when I'm gone Flowers gathered in the morning, Afternoon they blossom on, Still are withered in the evening, You can be me when I'm gone.

  Neil Gaiman

  Morning, Darkness, Gone

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• All women together ought to let flowers fall upon the tomb of Aphra Behn, for it was she who earned them the right to speak their minds.

  Virginia Woolf

  Fall, Mind, Together

  Virginia Woolf (2007). “Selected Works of Virginia Woolf”, p.604, Wordsworth Editions

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• Life is a stream On which we strew Petal by petal the flower of our heart; The end lost in dream, They float past our view, We only watch their glad, early start. Freighted with hope, Crimsoned with joy, We scatter the leaves of our opening rose; Their widening scope, Their distant employ, We never shall know. And the stream as it flows Sweeps them away, Each one is gone Ever beyond into infinite ways. We alone stay While years hurry on, The flower fared forth, though its fragrance still stays.

  Amy Lowell

  Dream, Heart, Past

  Amy Lowell (2009). “A Dome of Many-Coloured Glass”, p.9, ReadHowYouWant.com

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• And what is a kiss, specifically? A pledge properly sealed, a promise seasoned to taste, a vow stamped with the immediacy of a lip, a rosy circle drawn around the verb 'to love.' A kiss is a message too intimate for the ear, infinity captured in the bee's brief visit to a flower, secular communication with an aftertaste of heaven, the pulse rising from the heart to utter its name on a lover's lip: 'Forever.

  Edmond Rostand

  Love, Communication, Heart

  Edmond Rostand (1995). “Cyrano de Bergerac”, Talonbooks Limited

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