ŷ������

“One hand was behind his back, and he held it out, presenting a bouquet of white and smoky purple lilies.

“They’re straight from the underworld, by the way. They are everlasting. They won’t die.”
― Jess C Scott, The Devilin Fey

“A fallen blossom
returning to the bough, I thought --
But no, a butterfly.”
― Arakida Moritake, Traditional Japanese Poetry: An Anthology

“This is the spot where I will lie
When life has had enough of me,
These are the grasses that will blow
Above me like a living sea.

These gay old lilies will not shrink
To draw their life from death of mine,
And I will give my body's fire
To make blue flowers on this vine.

"O Soul," I said, "have you no tears?
Was not the body dear to you?"
I heard my soul say carelessly,
"The myrtle flowers will grow more blue.”
― Sara Teasdale

“In the village, a sage should go about
Like a bee, which, not harming
Flower, colour or scent,
Flies off with the nectar.”
― Anonymous, The Dhammapada

“I hope that while so many people are out smelling the flowers, someone is taking the time to plant some.”
― Herbert Rappaport

“The stems stood tall and straight, one series arranged in a single line, the other in a crudely shaped heart, the final one in the shape of the letter U. I love you.”
― Lurlene McDaniel, Don't Die, My Love

“- Ты хочешь знать, как быть, если сделал что-то не так? Отвечаю, детка: никогда не проси прощения. Ничего не говори. Посылай цветы. Без писем. Только цветы. Они покрывают все. Даже могилы.”
― Erich Maria Remarque, Three Comrades

“There has fallen a splendid tear
From the passion-flower at the gate.
She is coming, my dove, my dear;
She is coming, my life, my fate.
The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near;"
And the white rose weeps, "She is late;"
The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear;"
And the lily whispers, "I wait."

She is coming, my own, my sweet;
Were it ever so airy a tread,
My heart would hear her and beat,
Were it earth in an earthy bed;
My dust would hear her and beat,
Had I lain for a century dead,
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red.”
― Alfred Tennyson

“When the young woman
leans over the sky,
about to water the flowers as well as the weeds,
her white front splits open
until her milk runs.”
― Gunter Grass

“Lord, make me now
As happy as the field.
With flowers enriched...”
― Eileen Soper

“The flowers like me back.”
― John H. Carroll, Rojuun

“May the dead body of agony remain asleep
resting its head on a pillow of flowers.”
― Suman Pokhrel

“In love, treat your relationship as if you are growing the most beautiful flower. Keep watering it, tend to its roots, give it lots of sunlight, and always make sure the petals are full of color and are never curling. Once you neglect your plant, it will die, as will your relationship.”
― Suzy Kassem, Rise Up and Salute the Sun: The Writings of Suzy Kassem

“I love you like the plant that does not bloom
and carries in itself, hidden, the light of those flowers,”
― Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets

“It is only goodness which gives extras, and so I say again that we have much to hope from the flowers.”
― Arthur Conan Doyle, The Naval Treaty - a Sherlock Holmes Short Story

“Well, I must endure the presence of two or three caterpillars if I wish to become acquainted with the butterflies. It seems that they are very beautiful.
And if not the butterflies�� and the caterpillars�� who will call upon me? You will be far away. . . as for the large animals�� I am not at all afraid of any of them. I have my claws.��
And, navely, she showed her four thorns. Then she added:
“Don’t linger like this. You have decided to go away. Now go!��
For she did not want him to see her crying. She was such a proud flower. . .”
― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

“Flowers of sin, like some black sun,
Bloom in my dreams
Their perfume-sodden fragrance
Spreading through each heartbeat.”
― Shiv Kumar Batalvi

“Without you I wouldn’t have moved this way, to speak the language of flowers.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to Vera

“Look, hasn't my body already felt like the body of a flower?”
― Mary Oliver

“Collaboration is the essence of life. The wind, bees and flowers work together, to spread the pollen.”
― Amit Ray, Mindfulness Living in the Moment - Living in the Breath

“This morning the green fists of the peonies are getting ready
to break my heart
as the sun rises,
as the sun strokes them with his old, buttery fingers

and they open ��
pools of lace,
white and pink ��
and all day the black ants climb over them,

boring their deep and mysterious holes
into the curls,
craving the sweet sap,
taking it away

to their dark, underground cities ��
and all day
under the shifty wind,
as in a dance to the great wedding,

the flowers bend their bright bodies,
and tip their fragrance to the air,
and rise,
their red stems holding

all that dampness and recklessness
gladly and lightly,
and there it is again ��
beauty the brave, the exemplary,

blazing open.
Do you love this world?
Do you cherish your humble and silky life?
Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?

Do you also hurry, half-dressed and barefoot, into the garden,
and softly,
and exclaiming of their dearness,
fill your arms with the white and pink flowers,

with their honeyed heaviness, their lush trembling,
their eagerness
to be wild and perfect for a moment, before they are
nothing, forever?”
― Mary Oliver

“Alice would always remember this day as the one that changed her life irrevocably, even though it would take her the next twenty years to understand: life is lived forward but only understood backward. You can't see the landscape you're in while you're in it”
― Holly Ringland, The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart

“All the men send you orchids because they're expensive and they know that you know they are. But I always kind of think they're cheap, don't you, just because they're expensive. Like telling someone how much you paid for something to show off.”
― Winifred Watson, Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day

“Writing blooms flowers for mind, which last forever.”
― Debasish Mridha

“... on the lawn one late summer day, her pale hair tangled because she'd cry if anyone tried to brush it, spinning around and around until she got so dizzy she fell in a pile of bare feet and dandelions and sundress.”
― Holly Black

“This is God's universe and he is the master gardener of all. If we were to eliminate all colors in his garden,then what would be a rainbow with only one color? Or a garden with only one kind of flower? Why would the Creator create a vast assortment of plants, ethnicities, and animals, if only one beast or seed is to dominate all of existence?”
― Suzy Kassem, Rise Up and Salute the Sun: The Writings of Suzy Kassem

“How can there be too many children? That is like saying there are too many flowers." ~ Mother Teresa of Calcutta”
― Mother Teresa

“I keep stars in my pockets wear daisies in my hair but I tuck you tenderly
in the folds of my heart and take you everywhere.”
― Melody Lee, Vine: Book of Poetry

“Each flower is a secret language. When I wear a combination of flowers together, it's like I'm writing my own secret code that no one else can understand unless they know my language.”
― Holly Ringland, The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart

“The pageant of the river bank had marched steadily along, unfolding itself in scene-pictures that succeeded itself in stately procession.

Purple loosestrife arrived early, shaking luxuriant locks along the edge of the mirror whence its own face laughed back at it. Willow-herb, tender and wistful, like a pink sunset-cloud was not slow to follow. Comfrey, the purple hand-in-hand with the white, crept forth to take its place in the line; and at last one morning the diffident and delaying dog-rose stepped delicately on the stage, and one knew, as if string music has announced it in stately chords that strayed into a gavotte, that June at last was here.

One member of the company was still awaited; the shepherd-boy for the nymphs to woo, the knight for whom the ladies waited at the window, the prince that was to kiss the sleeping summer back to life and love. But when meadow-sweet, debonair and odorous in amber jerkin, moved graciously to his place in the group, then the play was ready to begin.”
― Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows