flower quotes
La flur de France as perdut. The flower of France is lost.
Al night by the rose, rose, Al night by the rose I lay, Dorst ich nought the rose stele, And yet I bar the flour away.
He was a braw gallant, And he play'd at the ba'; And the bonnie Earl of Murray Was the flower amang them a'. He was a braw gallant, And he play'd at the glove; And the bonnie Earl of Murray, O he was the Queen's luve. O lang will his lady Look owre the castle Doune, Ere she sees the Earl of Murray Come sounding thro'the toun.
L'amour a son instinct, il sait trouver le chemin du coeur comme le plus faible insecte marche a' sa fleur avec une irre sistible volonte qui ne s'e pouvante de rien. Love has its own instinct. It knows how to find the road to the heart just as the weakest insect moves towarditsflowerbyanirresistiblewillwhichfearsnothing.
Man that is born of a woman is of few days, and full of trouble. He cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down: Job he fleeth also as a shadow, and continueth not.
As for man, his days are as grass: as a flower of the field, so he flourisheth. For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; and the place thereof shall know it no more.
Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, saith your God. Speak ye comfortably to Jerusalem, and cry unto her, that her warfare is accomplished, that her iniquity is pardoned: for she hath received of the L hand double for all her sins. The voice of himthat crieth in the wilderness,Prepare ye the way of the L, make straight in the desert a highway for our God. Every valleyshall be exalted,and everymountainand hill shall be made low: and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough places plain: And the glory of the L shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together: for the mouth of the L hath spoken it. The voicesaid,Cry. And hesaid,What shall Icry? All flesh isgrass, and all thegoodlinessthereof isastheflowerof the field: The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: because the spirit of the L bloweth upon it: surely the people is grass. The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: but the word of our God shall stand for ever.
For all flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass. The grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away.
To see a world in a grain of sand, And heaven in a wild flower, Hold infinity in the palm of your hand, And eternity in an hour.
The moth's kiss, first! Kiss me as if you made believe You were not sure, this eve, How my face, your flower, had pursed Its petals up.
But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flower, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls in the river, A moment whitethen melts for ever.
His coomb was redder than the fyn coral, And batailled as it were a castle wal; His byle was blak, and as the jeet it shoon; Lyk asure were his legges and his toon; His nayles whitter than the lylye flour, And lyk the burned gold was his colour.
The mysterious East, perfumed like a flower, silent like death, dark like a grave.
Strength and beautyare the blessings of youth; temperance, however, is the flower of old age.
It comes equally to us all, and makes us all equal when it comes. The ashes of an oak in the chimney are no epitaph of that oak, to tell me how high or how large that was; it tells me not what flocks it sheltered while it stood, nor what men it hurt when it felland when a whirlwind hathblownthedustofthechurchyard intothe church, and the man sweeps out the dust of the church into the churchyard, who will undertake to sift those dusts again, and to pronounce,This is the Patrician, this the noble flower, and this the yeomanly, this the Plebeian bran.
What use the green river, the gold place, if time and death pinned human in the pocket of my land not rest from taking underground the green all-willowed and white rose and bean flower and morning-mist picnic of song in pepper-pot breast of thrush?
Full manya gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear: Full manya flower is born to blush unseen And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
Nocht is your fairnes bot ane faiding flour, Nocht is your famous laud and hie honour Bot wind inflat in uther mennis eiris.
Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, Old Time is still a flying: And this same flower that smiles to day, Tomorrow will be dying.
I always held my flower in a clenched fist.
Poetry, in the most comprehensive application of the term, I take to be the flower of any kind of experience, rooted in truth, and issuing forth into beauty.
For Love's sake, kiss me once again, I long, and should not beg in vain, Here's none to spy, or see; Why do you doubt, or stay? I'll taste as lightly as the Bee, That doth but touch his flower, and flies away. Once more, and (faith) I will be gone: Can he that loves, ask less than one?
Are simple women only fit To dress, to darn, to flower or knit, To mind the distaff, or the spit? Why are the needle and the pen Thought incompatible by men? 507
'What tydynges at Camelot?'seyde that on knyght.'By my hede, there have I been and aspied the courte of kynge Arthure, and there ys such a felyshyp that they may never be brokyn, and well-nyghe all the world holdith with Arthure, for there ys the floure of chevalry.'
Is it not possible that the rage for confession, autobiography, especially for memories of earliest childhood, is explained by our persistent yet mysterious belief in a self which is continuous and permanent; which, untouched by all we acquire and all we shed, pushes a green spear through the dead leaves and throughthemould, thrusts a scaled bud through years of darkness until, one day, the light discovers it and shakes the flower free andwe are alivewe are flowering for our moment upon the earth? This is the moment which after all, we live forthe moment of direct feeling when we are most ourselves and least personal.
And now, when I have summed up all my store, Thinking (so I myself deceive) So rich a chaplet thence to weave As never yet the King of Glory wore, Alas! I find the serpent old, That, twining in his speckled breast, About the flowers disguised does fold With wreaths of fame and interest.
La fleur que tu m'avais jete e Here is the flower that you threw me
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe, and pale gessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose, and the well attir'd woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears: Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffadillies fill their cups with tears, To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.
Oh! ever thus, from childhood's hour, I've seen my fondest hopes decay; I never loved a tree or flower, But 'twas the first to fade away. I never nursed a dear gazelle, To glad me with its soft black eye, But when it came to know me well, And love me, it was sure to die!
Our national flower is the concrete cloverleaf.
Beauty is but a flower Which wrinkles will devour; Brightness falls from the air; Queens have died young and fair; Dust hath close' d Helen's eye. I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us!
Nobody sees a flowerreallyit is so smallwe haven't timeand to see takes time like to have a friend takes time So I said to myself I'll paint what I seewhat the flower is to me, but I'll paint it big and they will be surprised into taking timeto look at itIwill make even busy New Yorkers take time to see what I see of flowers.
The Buddha, the Godhead, resides quite as comfortably inthe circuits of a digital computeror thegears of a cycle transmission ashe does at thetop of a mountainor in the petals of a flower.
Where'er you walk, cool gales shall fan the glade, Trees where you sit, shall crowd into a shade: Where'er you tread, the blushing flowers shall rise, And all things flourish where you turn your eyes.
Then washed in the brightness of this vision, I saw how in its radiance would grow and be nourished and suddenly burst into terrible and splendid bloom the blood-red flower of revolution.
To know that light falls and fills, often without our knowing, As an opaque vase fills to the brim from quick pouring, Fills and trembles at the edge yet does not flow over, Still holding and feeding the stem of the contained flower.
Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh, The sun has left the lea, The orange flower perfumes the bower, The breeze is on the sea.
The awful shadow of some unseen Power Floats though unseen among us,visiting This various world with as inconstant wing As summer winds that creep from flower to flower.
And the jessamine faint, and the sweet tuberose, The sweetest flower for scent that blows.
The vanity of translation; it were as wise to cast a violet into a crucible that you might discover the formal principle of its colour and odour, as seek to transfuse from one language to another the creations of a poet. 786 The plant must spring again from its seed, or it will bear no flower.
Daisies, those pearled Arcturi of the earth, The constellated flower that never sets.
Far may be sought Erst that ye can find So courteous, so kind, As Merry Margaret, This midsummer flower, Gentle as falcon Or hawk of the tower.
And thou art worthy; full of power; Asgentle; liberal-minded, great, Consistent; wearing all that weight Of learning lightly like a flower.
Wearing the white flower of a blameless life, Before a thousand peering littlenesses, In that fierce light which beats upon a throne, And blackens every blot.
The force that through the green fuse drives the flower Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees Is my destroyer. And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.
As well as any bloom upon a flower I like the dust on the nettles, never lost Except to prove the sweetness of a shower.
Happy those early days when I Shined in my Angel-infancy. Before I understood this place Appointed for my second race, Or taught my soul to fancy aught But a white, celestial thought; When yet I had not walked above A mile or two from my first love, And looking back (at that short space) Could see a glimpse of His bright face. When on some gilded cloud or flower My gazing soul would dwell an hour And in those weaker glories spy Some shadows of eternity.
O flower of Scotland, when will we see your like again, That fought and died for your wee bit hill and glen And stood against him, proud Edward's army, And sent him homeward tae think again.
Three years she grew in sun and shower, 924 The Nature said,'A lovelier flower On earth was never sown; This Child I to myself will take; She shall be mine, and I will make A Lady of my own.'
Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not.
Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
Webster's New World Dictionary of Quotations Copyright © 2010 by Chambers Harrap Publishers Ltd. All rights reserved. Published by Wiley, Hoboken, NJ. Used by arrangement with John Wiley & Sons, Inc.
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