Flower Quotes - Page 37

• She knew this man's smile, his gentle ways of love, but not his godlike fury in the storm. She might snare him in a fragile net of music, love and flowers, but, at each departure, he would break forth without, it seemed to her, the least regret.

  Antoine de Saint-Exupery

  Regret, Men, Storm

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• Everyone wants to understand art. Why not try to understand the song of a bird? Why does one love the night, flowers, everything around one, without trying to understand them? But in the case of a painting people have to understand. If only they would realize above all that an artist works of necessity, that he himself is only a trifling bit of the world, and that no more importance should be attached to him than to plenty of other things which please us in the world, though we can't explain them. People who try to explain pictures are usually barking up the wrong tree.

  Pablo Picasso

  Song, Art, Night

  Pablo Picasso (1972). “Picasso on art: a selection of views”, Viking Adult

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• It wasn‟t even desire. It was far more than that. It was love. Love. With a capital L and swirly script and hearts and flowers and whatever else the angels— and yes, all those annoying little cupids—wished to use for embellishment.

  Julia Quinn

  Heart, Angel, Desire

  Julia Quinn (2008). “The lost duke of Wyndham”

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• There are those who do not hold that there is any innate goodness to mankind. To them I say, had you lived my life, you would not believe it. I have known the depths to which mortals are capable of descending, and I have seen the heights. I have seen how kindness and compassion may grow in the unlikeliest of places, as the mountain flower forces its way through the stern rock.

  Jacqueline Carey

  Kindness, Believe, Compassion

  Jacqueline Carey (2016). “Kushiel’s Legacy: (Kushiel's Dart, Kushiel's Chosen, Kushiel's Avatar)”, p.496, Macmillan

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• Why should be fruit be held inferior to the flower?

  George Orwell

  Fruit, Should, Inferiors

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• Smell is the most powerful trigger to the memory there is. A certain flower, or a-a whiff of smoke can bring up experiences long forgotten. Books smell musty and-and-and rich. The knowledge gained from a computer is a... it, uh, it has no-no texture, no-no context. It's-it's there and then it's gone. If it's to last, then-then the getting of knowledge should be, uh, tangible. It should be, um, smelly.

  Joss Whedon

  Memories, Powerful, Book

  "Fictional character: Rupert Giles". Buffy the Vampire Slayer (I, Robot... You, Jane), www.imdb.com. April 28, 1997.

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• Always it’s Spring)and everyone’s in love and flowers pick themselves.

  e. e. cummings

  Spring, Picks, Spring Flowers

  e. e. cummings (2014). “100 Selected Poems”, p.13, Grove/Atlantic, Inc.

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• And...I think that's what life is all about, actually, about children and flowers.

  Audrey Hepburn

  Children, Thinking, Life Is

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• My days were not days of the week, bearing the stamp of any heathen deity, nor were they minced into hours and fretted by the ticking of a clock; for I lived like the Puri Indians, of whom it is said that "for yesterday, today, and tomorrow they have only one word, and they express the variety of meaning by pointing backward for yesterday forward for tomorrow, and overhead for the passing day." This was sheer idleness to my fellow-townsmen, no doubt; but if the birds and flowers had tried me by their standard, I should not have been found wanting.

  Henry David Thoreau

  Yesterday, Bird, Doubt

  Henry David Thoreau (2004). “Walden: 150th Anniversary Illustrated Edition of the American Classic”, p.109, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• Nothing in the world is so soft and pleasing to the touch, as the skin of a woman's thigh. No flower, feather or fabric, can match that velvet whisper of flesh. No matter how unequal they may be in any other ways, all women, old and young, fat and thin, beautiful and ugly, have that perfection. It's a great part of the reason why men hunger to possess women, and so often convince themselves that they do possess them: the thigh, that touch.

  Gregory David Roberts

  Beautiful, Men, Perfection

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• In you is the illusion of each day. You arrive like the dew to the cupped flowers. You undermine the horizon with your absence. Eternally in flight like the wave.

  Pablo Neruda

  Dew, Horizon, Each Day

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• Power. What do we mean? 'The ability to determine another man's luck.' ...how is it that some men attain mastery over others while the vast majority live and die as minions, as livestock? The answer is a holy trinity. First: God-given gifts of charisma. Second: the discipline to nurture these gifts to maturity, for though humanity's topsoil is fertile with talent, only one seed in ten thousand will ever flower -- for want of discipline. Third: the will to power.

  David Mitchell

  Mean, Maturity, Men

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• You stink like a faerie, all flowers and sunshine and evil manipulation.

  Kiersten White

  Sunshine, Evil, Manipulation

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• Like flowers scattered in a storm, a man's life is a long farewell.

  Haruki Murakami

  Farewell, Men, Long

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• My grandmother thinks it's really funny to put all sorts of things in our - my lunch. I never know what'll be inside: e.e. cummings, flower petals, a handful of buttons. She seems to have lost sight of the original purpose of the brown bag." - Lennie "Or maybe she thinks other forms of nourishment are more important." - Joe

  Jandy Nelson

  Grandmother, Thinking, Sight

  Jandy Nelson (2010). “The Sky Is Everywhere”, p.36, Penguin

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• Fabulous" Jack said, reaching down and plucking a crimson flower. A small scream sounded from it as he severed the stem. He smiled maliciously, then started stomping with abandon through the beds of blossoms, a chorus of tinny, shrill screams punctuating every step.

  Kiersten White

  Bed, Down And, Fabulous

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• I had the brief notion that his heart, pressed flat as a flower, crimson and thin as tissue paper, lay in this file. It was a very thin one.

  Angela Carter

  Heart, Tissue Paper, Tissues

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• The garden where you sit Has never a need of flowers, For you are the blossoms And only a fool or the blind Would fail to know it

  Louis de Bernieres

  Garden, Needs, Fool

  Louis de Bernieres (2012). “Corelli's Mandolin: A Novel”, p.119, Vintage

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• He had her in his arms, her face like a wet flower at his lips, and all their vain terrors shriveling up like ghosts at sunrise.

  Edith Wharton

  Sunrise, Arms, Faces

  Edith Wharton (2013). “Delphi Works of Edith Wharton (Illustrated)”, p.1992, Delphi Classics

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• I look for myself but find no one. I belong to the chrysanthemum hour of bright flowers placed in tall vases. I should make an ornament of my soul.

  Fernando Pessoa

  Soul, Ornaments, Looks

  Fernando Pessoa (2010). “The Book of Disquiet”, p.134, Profile Books

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• A painting is more than the sum of its parts,' he would tell me, and then go on to explain how the cow by itself is just a cow, and the meadow by itself is just grass and flowers, and the sun peeking through the trees is just a beam of light, but put them all together and you've got magic.

  Wendelin Van Draanen

  Light, Tree, Magic

  Wendelin Van Draanen (2008). “Flipped”, p.34, Knopf Books for Young Readers

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• I am still learning about love. I thought I understood it--not just mother love, but the love for one's parents, for one's husband, and for one's laotong. I've experienced the other types of love--pity love, respectful love and gratitude love. But looking at our secret fan with its messages written between Snow Flower and me over many years, I see that I didn't value the most important love--deep-heart love.

  Lisa See

  Mother, Gratitude, Husband

  Lisa See (2011). “Snow Flower and the Secret Fan”, p.4, A&C Black

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• When death comes…. I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering: what it’s going to be like, that cottage of darkness? And therefore I look upon everything as a brotherhood and a sisterhood, and I look upon time as no more than an idea, and I consider eternity as another possibility, and I think of each life as a flower, as common as a field daisy, and as singular, and each name a comfortable music in the mouth, tending, as all music does, toward silence, and each body as a lion of courage, and something precious to the earth. [from the poem "When Death Comes"]

  Mary Oliver

  Sisterhood, Thinking, Doors

  Mary Oliver, “When Death Comes”

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• The Waystone was his, just as the third silence was his. This was appropriate, as it was the greatest silence of the three, wrapping the others inside itself. It was deep and wide as autumn’s ending. It was heavy as a great river-smooth stone. It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting to die.

  Patrick Rothfuss

  Autumn, Cutting, Men

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• But (Peresphone) was like, the goddess of flowers." Grover looked offended. "Springtime.

  Rick Riordan

  Springtime, Goddess, Grover

  Rick Riordan (2007). “The Titan's curse”

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