Flower Quotes

Every flower is a soul blossoming in nature.

When admiring other people's gardens, don't forget to tend to your own flowers.

A book about books is like a poem about poetry:Books are knowledge, paid for, all.Readers - horses in a stall.Stallions should always run.Lest they stale become, in turn.Running waters are most clear.In some books, you disappear –lose yourself, and track of time.How I wish that one was mine...Mine, to have, to write, to read...Mine, just like a flying steed.Mine, forever, - to improve.Would I then, of me, approve?I would not, I can't... myself.I'm but dust, swept off a shelf.Fly, can I, just 'til I'm settled,down, beside my flower, petalled.

Attract everyone! Smile like a flower.

I appreciate the beauty and balm of flowers but I have never enjoyed receiving them because then I have to watch them die, and worse...throw them away.

If you place two flowers in the same vase, they will not argue over who is more beautiful.

Like a flower pressed flat and dried, we try to hold it still and say, this is exactly how it was the day I first saw it. But like the flower, the past cannot be trapped that way. It loses its fragrance and and its vitality, its fragility becomes brittleness and its colors fade. And when next you look on the flower, you know that it is not at all what you sought to capture, that that moment has fled forever.

Love is the softest rose in the soul's garden.

Roses do not bloom the same time as daisies.

Surround yourself with people who make you laugh. Laughter is to the soul what sunshine is to a flower.

If roses did not suffer thorns on their journey to beauty, they would lose out on becoming masterpieces.

To me she looked like a lily, an innocence floating in the pond!

Like a flower, feel yourself rise above and begin to open.

A rose does not lose sleep because it was mocked by weeds.

Roses do not take beauty advice from weeds.

I wouldn't coax the plant if I were you.Such watchful nursing may do it harm.Let the soil rest from so much diggingAnd wait until it's dry before you water it.The leaf's inclined to find its own direction;Give it a chance to seek the sunlight for itself.Much growth is stunted by too careful prodding,Too eager tenderness.The things we love we have to learn to leave alone.

They say that wisdom is a dying flower, and I disagree. In a world covered in mud, the lotus still continues to grow. Even after mankind washes itself away from the surface of the earth, knowledge will still remain. Look no further than the bosom of Nature. It offers all the solutions needed to cure and unite humanity. Wise men only exist as interpreters and transmitters of Truth. Their time on earth is limited, but Nature's existence is eternal. Open books shall always exist for those with an opened eye and pure heart; for Truth can only be seen by those with truth in them.

It seems that by the time the singular beauty of a flower in bloom can no longer pierce the veil of black or obsessive thoughts in a person's mind, that mind's connection to the sensual world has grown dangerously frayed.

Womanhood is a flourishing flower.

Beauty is seeing a flower bloom in a garden or in nature.Artificial is seeing that same flower try and grow in a vase of water.

The sun was directly overhead, bright against the flower’s exterior. Warm blueish-purple silhouettes pirouetted and danced along interior walls.

Love for the beauty of the soul. I shall love you always. When the flower of life has gone, ever I shall find you. When all is lost and winter comes, I shall be your spring time. And memory fades and wilts then, I shall always find you.... I shall always find you....

Flowers are evil, because they live just to die for the love of other people. You don’t believe me? Try it for yourself and see if you’ll be good afterwards. Undeath is a way of life, for some things. That doesn’t make it good or anything. Especially anything. Nothing makes anything anything. Because nothing is a serious matter, and anything just is.

Does poem also walk through the valleys seeking tongues from dandelions?

A rose's prick is better than a daisy's kiss.

O, flower! If you bloom with love in spring, will you understand if my soul sings?

If you look at every flower individually, they look quite miserable. Put them together in a vase and they become a bouquet and that's quite attractive. I think about our community often in that way

my beauty, flower by flower, star by star,wave by wave, love, I have counted your body.

It is the littlest of flowers that fly the farthest . . . That have the courage to fly the farthest.

Where is the land of Luthany,Where is the tract of Elenore?I am bound therefore.'Pierce thy heart to find the key;With thee takeOnly what none else would keep;Learn to dream when thou dost wake;Learn to wake when thou dost sleep.Learn to water joy with tears,Learn from fears to vanquish fears;To hope, for thou dar'st not despair;Exult, for that thou dar'st not grieve;Plough thou the rock until it bear;Know, for thou else couldst not believe;Lose, that the lost thou may'st receive;Die, for none other way canst live.'When earth and heave lay down their veil,And that apocalypse turns thee pale;When thy seeing blindeth theeTo what thy fellow-mortals see;When their sight to thee is sightless;Their living, death; their light, most lightless;Search no more--Pass the gates of Luthany,Tread the region Elenore!'Where is the land of Luthany?And where the region Elenore?I do faint therefore.'When to the new eyes of theeAll things by immortal power,Near or far,HiddenlyTo each other linked are,That thou canst not stir a flowerWithout troubling of a star;When thy song is shield and mirrorTo the fair snake curled pain,Where thou dar'st affront her terrorThat on her thou may'st attainPersean Conquest; seek no more,O seek no more!Pass the gates of Luthany,Tread the region Elenore!

Sometimes I struggle. Sometimes I falter. Sometimes I live in gray. But always I remember the yarrow you’ve grown in the spaces of my rib cage. I now love with roses from my heart, with lilacs from my mouth.

Seeing the mud around a lotus is pessimism, seeing a lotus in the mud is optimism.

What magic is this?' the muse says to the man. 'A flower, a dream, a fairy-tale wish,' the man says to his muse. The muse smiles.

Be like a rose; no matter how many thorns you encounter in life, bloom.

Life is rose. Some look at the thorns ... some at the flower.

Let kindness be the flower of your heart and fragrance of your mind. Let it fill the world with peace, joy and the fragrance of kindness.

LOVE IS A FLOWERTreat your relationshipAs if you are growingThe most beautiful sacred flower.Keep watering it,Tend to the roots,And always make sureThe petals are full of colorAnd are never curling.Once you neglect your plant,It will die,As will your relationship.

She was an exotic flower amongst the snowdrifts, out of place, a Technicolor misfit in a monochrome Christmas movie.

Love is a flower that should never cease to grow. Nurture it, and it will outlive you. Neglect it, and it will wilt away and die.

If a flower can flourish in the desert, you can flourish anywhere.

A thorn is a rose's friend but a gardener’s enemy.

i open for you like a flower.i let you in like a new day.

The cactus thrives in the desert while the fern thrives in the wetland.The fool will try to plant them in the same flowerbox.The florist will sigh and add a wall divider and proper soil to both sides.The grandparent will move the flowerbox halfway out of the sun.The child will turn it around properly so that the fern is in the shade, and not the cactus.The moral of the story?Kids are smart.

The joy of success lies in the process or journey -- not so much on the destination, because one destination opens the door for another. It's like the beauty of watching a blossoming flower ... a bird taking flight for the first time or a child taking the first step ... Enjoy your process today as I am.

If all we had were roses, would the thorns then be beautiful?

I shall ever try to drive all evils away from my heart and keep my love in flower, knowing that thou hast thy seat in the inmost shrine of my heart.

Every flower blossoms in its sacred time.

THE WEATHER OF LOVELoveHas a way of wiltingOr blossomingAt the strangest,Most unpredictable hour.This is how love is,An uncontrollable beastIn the form of a flower.The sun does not always shine on it.Nor does the rain always pour on itNor should it always get beaten by a storm.Love does not always emit the sweetest scents,And sometimes it can sting with its thorns.Water it.Give it plenty of sunlight.Nurture it,And the flower of love willOutlive you.Neglect it or keep dissecting it,And its petals will quickly curl up and die.This is how love is,Perfection is a delusional vision.So love the person who loves youUnconditionally,And abandon the oneWho only loves youUnder favorableConditions.

Plant the trees just for beauty,If flowers bloom or fruits ripen, Enjoy it as a gift and appreciate nature as a universal giver.

Her wild heart was rare, she saw blessings were most saw burdens & if one thing was certain; her smile was like a flower in the sunshine

I was frightened of so many things, in my vanity, that ultimately i couldn't protect myself any other way. Try not to be like that, okay? Be sure to keep your tummy warm, try to relax, both your heart and your body, try not to get flustered.Live like a flower. You have that right. It's something you can achieve, for sure, in your lifetime. And it's enough.

Act of giving something to others is an art of flowering your heart.

Found in trees. Sometimes also in old silent movie theaters, seaside zoos, magic shops, hat shops, time-travel shops, topiary gardents, cowboy boots, castle turrets, comet museums, dog pounds, mermaid ponds, dragon lairs, library stacks (the ones in the back), piles of leaves, piles of pancakes, the belly of a fiddle, the bell of a flower, or in the company of wild herds of typewriters. But mostly in trees.

Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic. World's had to be in travail, that the meanest flower might blow...

The flower doth not worry, and the tree doth not waver.

she was completely wholeand yet never fully complete

I like the posture, but not the yoga. I like the inebriated morning, but not the opium. I like the flower but not the garden, the moment but not the dream. Quiet, my love. Be still. I am sleeping.

The prettiest flower still had to struggle to surface.

Everyday can be extraordinaryAnd ripe,Like a flower burst,If the will is there.

... from the classically executed lifelike bouquets, tempting you to reach for the petals that fell on a three-dimensional tablecloth, to a new and disturbing style in which the colors seemed to blaze with such intensity they destroyed the old lines, the old solidity, to make a vision like those states which I'm nearest my delirium and flowers grow before my eyes and crackle like the flames of lamps.