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“No way!" I yelled, taking it from him.

"I can't believe I made a pink knife."

"It's so cute! I love it. Finally, a companion worthy of Tasey.”
― Kiersten White, Paranormalcy

“For Prudence was an entirely different child from the woebegone shrinking creature who had stood in the roadway outside the school. The tight little bud that was the real Prudence had steadily opened its petals in the sunshine of Kit’s friendship and Hannah’s gentle affection.”
― Elizabeth George Speare, The Witch of Blackbird Pond

“Spring buds burst to bloom, and the river carries their song of life.”
― Jayita Bhattacharjee

“From a bud of the evening a flower opens its petal in the dawn. The world sees the bud of the last night smiling with nectar on its lips. No one observed the diligence that was needed for the opening of each petal.”
― Pratibha Ray

“One’s like a closed bud, and most of what one reads and does has no effect at all; but there are certain things that have a peculiar significance for one, and they open a petal; and the petals open one by one; and at last the flower is there.”
― William Somerset Maugham, Of Human Bondage

“There's an aloneness in which you find the stars scatter silver in the night sky, and the buds go to sleep, knowing dawn will split the sly in the light. Trust that aloneness...”
― Jayita Bhattacharjee

“Every drought is a rainfall somewhere else..for the eyes that cry, laughter blooms somewhere else. For every flower that goes to sleep, a bud opens somewhere else...”
― Jayita Bhattacharjee

“Every drought is a rainfall somewhere else....for the eyes that cry, laughter bursts somewhere else. For every flower that goes to sleep, a bud blooms somewhere else...”
― Jayita Bhattacharjee

“There's an aloneness in which you find the stars scatter silver in the night sky, and the buds go to sleep, knowing dawn will split the sky in the light. Trust that aloneness...”
― Jayita Bhattacharjee

“When a bud opens up,
Let her bloom
And let her show you how
She made it through the storm.”
― Jasmine Miró, Where Written Words Remain: Route to My Soul

“Every petal tells the story of how a bud blossomed into a flower, pushing through the night and opening in dawn. This is how the petals open, from the grey gloom into a youthful spring.”
― Jayita Bhattacharjee

“And the grief curled in a bud, broke with time, for all things tight, burst to blossom only to break free of the pain.”
― Jayita Bhattacharjee

“Petal by petal, the rose remembers its freshness
Crying for the lost scent.
A bud opened into a flower as fresh flesh
that my soul took in and found a new life.
Paradise sprawled into my deep,
a spillage of scent, from the red blossom.
My injured soul is flaming,
longing to live again,
in the luminous opening of a young bud.”
― Jayita Bhattacharjee

“Petal by petal, the rose remembers its freshness
Crying for the lost scent.
A bud opened into a flower as fresh flesh
that my soul took in and found a new life.
Paradise sprawled into my deep,
a spillage of scent, from the red blossom.
This injured soul is flaming,
longing to live again,
in the luminous opening of a young bud.”
― Jayita Bhattacharjee

“Unknowingly, we kill our finest feelings, and the heart is torn in deep, for the bud never got a chance to open, and shoots of joy remained unfelt. Being still, we meet ourselves, eye to eye, and discover our undiscovered selves, that we are the poets, the dreamers, and the lovers sleeping inside.”
― Jayita Bhattacharjee

“Let me be the way I'm born to be, writing love letters to the sea, in the quiet weaving of memories, making flowers of all that remains.
Let me be the way I'm born to be, drunken with ecstasy, unfurled freshly, for had I not known what agony is, I would have stayed furled as a bud in deep.
Let me be the way I'm born to be, the lover of serenity, for had I not left the crowds of people, I would have never known what solitude truly is.
Let me be the way I'm born to be, the solitary soul, aware, awake, and playful with life.”
― Jayita Bhattacharjee

“The seeds that grief had planted grew slowly as if God had nurtured them. From the deep, fresh leaves appeared, and buds broke, working wonders. Slowly, they uncurled, flooding the earth with scent and filling our cups with ecstasy.”
― Jayita Bhattacharjee