Rose Quotes - Page 34

• Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory; Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heap'd for the belovèd's bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.

  Percy Bysshe Shelley

  Love, Sweet, Art

  'To-: Music when soft voices die' (published 1824).

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• She knows not loves that kissed her She knows not where. Art thou the ghost, my sister, White sister there, Am I the ghost, who knows? My hand, a fallen rose, Lies snow-white on white snows, and takes no care.

  Algernon Charles Swinburne

  Art, Lying, Hands

  Algernon Charles Swinburne (2015). “Selected Verse”, p.153, Carcanet

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• We are small but we are many We are many we are small We were here before you rose We will be here when you fall

  Neil Gaiman

  Fall, Coraline

  Neil Gaiman (2013). “Coraline”, p.12, A&C Black

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• You have to protect her. The more she uses it, the worse it'll get. Stop her, Rose. Stop her before they notice, before they notice and take her away too. Get her out of here." [...] "Don't let her use the power!. . .Save her. Save her from herself!

  Richelle Mead

  Use, Protect

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• It tore my heart out, because I heard his voice. The wolves sang slowly behind him, bittersweet harmony, but all I heard was Sam. His howl trembled, rose, fell in anguish. I listened for a long time. I prayed for them to stop, to leave me alone, but at the same time I was desperately afraid they would. Long after the other voices had dropped away, Sam kept howling, very soft and slow. When he finally fell silent, the night felt dead.

  Maggie Stiefvater

  Heart, Night, Voice

  Maggie Stiefvater (2011). “Shiver Trilogy (Shiver, Linger, Forever)”, p.254, Scholastic Inc.

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• Water and stone Flesh and bone Night and morn Rose and thorn Tree and wind Heart and mind

  Juliet Marillier

  Heart, Night, Wind

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• And I thought the whole point of my education was that violence IS the answer.

  Richelle Mead

  Answers, Violence, Vampire Academy

  Richelle Mead (2008). “Frostbite: A Vampire Academy Novel”, p.36, Penguin

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• I have an evening dress, pink mull over silk (I'm perfectly beautiful in that), and a blue church dress, and a dinner dress of red veiling with Oriental trimming (makes me look like a Gipsy), and another of rose-coloured challis, and a grey street suit, and an every-day dress for classes. That wouldn't be an awfully big wardrobe for Julia Rutledge Pendleton, perhaps, but for Jerusha Abbott - Oh, my!

  Jean Webster

  Beautiful, Blue, Class

  Jean Webster (2015). “Daddy-Long-Legs”, p.17, Sheba Blake Publishing

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• Stop. I don't do you favors, Alec. I do things for you because - well, why do you think I do them?" Something rose up in Alec's throat, cutting off his response. It was always like this when he was with Magnus. It was as if there were a bubble of pain or regret that lived inside his heart, and when he wanted to say something, anything, that seemed meaningful or true, it rose up and choked off his words. "I need to get back to the ship," he said, finally.

  Cassandra Clare

  Meaningful, Pain, Regret

  Cassandra Clare (2012). “Cassandra Clare: The Mortal Instruments Series (5 books): City of Bones; City of Ashes; City of Glass; City of Fallen Angels, City of Lost Souls”, p.834, Simon and Schuster

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• Once, when Tom was over here, to tease Rose, I asked him, "Before she was born, can you remember? Were things just the same as they are these days? Did it still rain and get dark and all the stuff it does now? Did the sun go up and down in exactly the same way?" Yes," Tom said, and then he smiled at Rose and said, "No. Not really. Not exactly the same way.

  Hilary McKay

  Rain, Dark, Doe

  Hilary McKay (2007). “Caddy Ever After”, p.68, Simon and Schuster

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• She bounded before me, and returned to my side, and was off again like a young greyhound; and, at first, I found plenty of entertaiment in listening to the larks singing far and near; and enjoying the sweet, warm sunshine; and watching her, my pet, and my delight, with her golden ringlets flying loose behind, and her bright cheek, as soft and pure in its bloom, as a wild rose, and her eyes radiant with cloudless pleasure. She was a happy creautre, and an angel in those those days. It is a pity she could not stay content.

  Emily Bronte

  Sweet, Eye, Angel

  "Wuthering Heights". Book by Emily Bronte, 1847.

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• Rohan's fingertips drifted with stunning delicacy over her throat, behind her ear, pushing into the satiny warmth of her hair. "You are an interesting woman Amelia." Gooseflesh rose wherever his breath touched. "I can't f-fathom why you would think so." His playful mouth traced the wing of her brow. "I find you thoroughly, deeply interesting. I want to open you like a book and read every page." A smile curved the corners of his lips as he added huskily, "Footnotes included.

  Lisa Kleypas

  Book, Thinking, Hair

  Lisa Kleypas (2007). “Mine Till Midnight”, p.85, St. Martin's Press

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• It was a hurting tune, resigned, a cry of heartache for all in the world that fell apart. As ash rose black against the brilliant sky, Fire's fiddle cried out for the dead, and for the living who stay behind to say goodbye.

  Kristin Cashore

  Goodbye, Hurt, Fire

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• I can't wait until this show gets on the road," he said. "You and me are going to have so much fun, Rose. Picking out curtains, doing each other's hair, telling ghost stories..." The reference to "ghost stories" hit a little closer to home than I was comfortable with. Not that choosing curtains or brushing Christian's hair was much more appealing.

  Richelle Mead

  Christian, Fun, Home

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• Rose!" I looked to my right and saw Adrian cutting across the lawn toward me, oblivious to the slush's effects on his designer shoes. "Did you just call me 'Rose'?" I asked. "And not 'little dhampir'? I don't think that's ever happened." "It happens all the time," he countered, catching up to me.

  Richelle Mead

  Cutting, Thinking, Shoes

  Richelle Mead (2008). “Shadow Kiss: A Vampire Academy Novel”, p.150, Penguin

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• The fate of peoples is made like this, two men in small rooms. Forget the coronations, the conclaves of cardinals, the pomp and processions. This is how the world changes: a counter pushed across a table, a pen stroke that alters the force of a phrase, a woman's sigh as she passes and leaves on the air a trail of orange flower or rose water; her hand pulling close the bed curtain, the discreet sigh of flesh against flesh.

  Hilary Mantel

  Flower, Fate, Men

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• It was near curfew time, and I was dropping him off for the night. He shook his head. "Rose, I don't know if you're crazy or not, but I'm actually starting to think you might be the best guardian- or soon-to-be guardian- out there." "Did you just give me a serious compliment?" I asked. He turned his back on me and headed inside his dorm. "Good night.

  Richelle Mead

  Good Night, Crazy, Thinking

  Richelle Mead (2013). “Vampire Academy: The Complete Collection”, p.515, Penguin

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• He went like one that hath been stunn'd, And is of sense forlorn: A sadder and a wiser man He rose the morrow morn.

  Samuel Taylor Coleridge

  Men, Morrow, Forlorn

  'The Rime of the Ancient Mariner' (1798) pt. 7

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• Rose is in red, But never in blue, Sharp as a thorn, Fights like one too.

  Richelle Mead

  Fighting, Blue, Red

  Richelle Mead (2013). “Vampire Academy: The Complete Collection”, p.404, Penguin

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• we wouldn't ask why a rose that grew from the concrete for having damaged petals, in turn, we would all celebrate its tenacity, we would all love its will to reach the sun, well, we are the roses, this is the concrete and these are my damaged petals, dont ask me why, thank god, and ask me how

  Tupac Shakur

  Thank God, Sun, Tenacity

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• i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses

  e. e. cummings

  Love, Eye, Small Hands

  W (1931) "somewhere I have never travelled"

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• If he wants to tell you, he'll tell you. End of story, Rose. Besides, you certainly keep your share of secrets too. You two have a lot in common." "Are you kidding? He's arrogant, sarcastic, likes to intimidate people, and—oh." Okay. Maybe she had a point.

  Richelle Mead

  Sarcastic, Two, People

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• I think Oscar Wilde wrote a poem about a robin who loved a white rose. He loved it so much that he pierced his breast and let his heart's blood turn the white rose red. Maybe this sounds very sentimental, but for anybody who has loved a career as much as I've loved mine, there can be no short cuts.

  Mary Pickford

  Heart, Cutting, Thinking

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• so my grandmother was not without humanity. and if she wore cocktail dresses when she labored in the garden, they were cocktail dresses she no longer intended to wear to cocktail parties. even in her rose garden she did not want to appear underdressed. if the dresses got too dirty from gardening, she threw them out. when my mother suggested to her that she might have them cleaned, my grandmother said, "what? and have those people at the cleaners what i was doing in a dress to make it that dirty?" from my grandmother i learned that logic is relative.

  John Irving

  Mother, Party, Dirty

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• I rose as from the death that wipes out the sadness of life, and then dies itself in the new morrow.

  George MacDonald

  Sadness, Wipe, Morrow

  George Macdonald (2016). “Phantastes”, p.87, George Macdonald

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