A single rose can be my garden... a single friend, my world.
He who wants a rose must respect her thorn.
We can complain because rose bushes have thorns, or rejoice because thorn bushes have roses.
You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.
Love planted a rose, and the world turned sweet.
Flowers are the sweetest things God ever made and forgot to put a soul into.
Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose.
The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyone the sculpted flower.
What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
The flower is the poetry of reproduction. It is an example of the eternal seductiveness of life.
The violets in the mountains have broken the rocks.
To be overcome by the fragrance of flowers is a delectable form of defeat.
I will be the gladdest thing under the sun! I will touch a hundred flowers and not pick one.
Break open A cherry tree And there are no flowers; But the spring breeze Brings forth myriad blossoms.
I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.
A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.
Flowers... are a proud assertion that a ray of beauty outvalues all the utilities of the world.
I'd rather have roses on my table than diamonds on my neck.
The red rose whispers of passion, And the white rose breathes of love; O, the red rose is a falcon, And the white rose is a dove.
Flowers have an expression of countenance as much as men or animals. Some seem to smile; some have a sad expression; some are pensive and diffident; others are plain, honest and upright, like the broad faced sunflower and the hollyhock.
Flowers seem intended for the solace of ordinary humanity.
Hope is brightest when it dawns from fears.
The sweetest flower that blows, I give you as we part. For you it is a Rose, For me it is my heart.
A profusion of pink roses being ragged in the rain speaks to me of all gentleness and its enduring.
It will never rain roses: when we want to have more roses we must plant more trees.
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