Carnations Quotes

Sonnet XVII
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way than this:
where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep. ~ Pablo Neruda

To win the trophy of enchanting grace: Ranks of Carnations, to all ladies dear, Of whose sweet taste I write approval here, For these pre-eminent myself I think, As long as you don't overdue the pink. ~ Ruth Pitter

(Carnations) The only flower that, when given to someone, is marginally superior to dead ones. ~ Marisha Pessl

The carnations in his coat were drooping with the cold, he noticed, their red glory all over. ~ Willa Cather

I don't think that there's that much difference between a photograph of a fist up someone's ass and a photograph of carnations in a bowl. ~ Robert Mapplethorpe

BACKYARD GARDEN SALAD In wartime, patriotic families cultivated "Victory Gardens" to promote self-sufficiency and help the war effort. 4 cups mixed greens 1/4 cup fresh sprigs of dill 1/4 cup fresh flat-leaf parsley leaves 4 large basil leaves, rolled up and thinly sliced crosswise 1 large lemon, halved 1/4 cup fruity olive oil pinch of salt fresh ground black pepper to taste 1 cup toasted walnuts 3/4 cup crumbled feta cheese 1 cup fresh edible flowers; choose from bachelor's buttons, borage, calendulas, carnations, herb flowers (basil, chives, rosemary, thyme), nasturtiums, violas, including pansies and Johnny-jump-ups, stock Toss salad greens and herbs in a large bowl. Squeeze lemon juice (without the seeds) over the greens and season with olive oil, salt and pepper. Toss again. Add walnuts and feta and toss well. Divide salad and pansies among four serving plates and serve. (Source: Adapted from California Bountiful) ~ Susan Wiggs

What a vision of loneliness and riot the thought of Margaret Cavendish brings to mind! as if some giant cucumber had spread itself over all the roses and carnations in the garden and choked them to death. ~ Virginia Woolf

As explained above, those who believe in the theory of
evolution think that a few atoms and molecules thrown into
a huge vat could produce thinking, reasoning professors
and university students; such scientists as Einstein and
Galileo; such artists as Humphrey Bogart, Frank Sinatra
and Luciano Pavarotti; as well as antelopes, lemon trees,
and carnations. Moreover, as the scientists and professors
who believe in this nonsense are educated people, it is
quite justifiable to speak of this theory as "the most potent
spell in history." Never before has any other belief or idea
so taken away peoples' powers of reason, refused to allow
them to think intelligently and logically, and hidden the
truth from them as if they had been blindfolded. This is an
even worse and unbelievable blindness than the totem
worship in some parts of Africa, the people of Saba worshipping
the Sun, the tribe of Prophet Ibrahim (as) worshipping
idols they had made with their own hands, or the
people of Prophet Musa (as) worshipping the Golden Calf.

In fact, Allah has pointed to this lack of reason in the
Qur'an. In many verses, He reveals that some peoples'
minds will be closed and that they will be powerless to see
the truth. Some of these verses are as follows:
As for those who do not believe, it makes no difference
to them whether you warn them or do not warn them,
they will not ~ Harun Yahya

I believe that virtually everyone has the ability to either grow some food at home, or to find an appropriate location to start a garden. I may sound like a kook who plants my landscape with cucumbers instead of carnations, peppers instead of petunias, and fruit trees rather than ficus, but I am convinced that wherever you go, you can grow food! Now is the time for us to join together and plant the seeds that will transform the places in which we live. ~ Greg Peterson

THE POEMS OF OUR CLIMATE

I
Clear water in a brilliant bowl,
Pink and white carnations. The light
In the room more like a snowy air,
Reflecting snow. A newly-fallen snow
At the end of winter when afternoons return.
Pink and white carnations - one desires
So much more than that. The day itself
Is simplified: a bowl of white,
Cold, a cold porcelain, low and round,
With nothing more than the carnations there.

II
Say even that this complete simplicity
Stripped one of all one's torments, concealed
The evilly compounded, vital I
And made it fresh in a world of white,
A world of clear water, brilliant-edged,
Still one would want more, one would need more,
More than a world of white and snowy scents.

III
There would still remain the never-resting mind,
So that one would want to escape, come back
To what had been so long composed.
The imperfect is our paradise.
Note that, in this bitterness, delight,
Since the imperfect is so hot in us,
Lies in flawed words and stubborn sounds. ~ Wallace Stevens

I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving
but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close. ~ Pablo Neruda

I'm for a multi-racial world in which each race keeps to itself, in harmony with the other races. Like in a garden, you have flowerbeds of roses and flowerbeds of carnations and irises and different other flowers. They don't intermarry. They stay separate, and each one has its beauty ... I'm against colonialism for the reason that colonialism infects the master as well as the slave. It even infects the master more. ~ Savitri Devi

In the beginning we start with roses. The king's flower right? Only they wilt in less than a day, especially when exposed to the elements. But Carnations? Oh, what a beautiful flower. They come in every color. True, some are painted, but that doesn't mean they are less beautiful, and they never wilt. ~ Ruth McLeod-Kearns

I know historians aren't supposed to fall in love with their own theories, but I was head over heels about the notion of an entire band of female French agents, like a nineteenth-century Charlie's Angels. Only better. It made the Pink Carnation's organization look positively humdrum. ~ Lauren Willig

Aside the narrow path leading from the house entrance door to the wicket, the perennials like variegated carnations and creamy color spots of pyrethrum made a curvy line looking like a kind of flowery brook falling into the odorous ocean of phloxes at the gate. ~ Sahara Sanders

You just hung up on my boss," I said.
"He was talking in circles. He'll get over it."
"You know what your problem is? 'You' as in Primes, in general?"
"I think you're about to tell me." Mad Rogan leaned forward with rapt attention.
"Your problem is that nobody ever tells you no. You think you can do whatever you want, enter wherever you want . . ."
"Seduce whoever we want." He grinned, a wicked, wolfish smile.
Oh no, we are not veering off the highway onto that road. "You play with people's lives. When cops show up, you wave your hand and make them go away. Because you are Primes and the rest of us are, apparently, nothing."
"Mhm," he said. "The irony of this is so rich, it's simply delicious."
"I don't see what's so ironic about it."
"I'd tell you, but it would ruin the fun."
"Could you be more smug?"
He leaned on his elbow. "Possibly. I see you liked the flowers."
I got a sudden urge to set the carnations on fire. "They are gorgeous. It's not their fault you brought them. ~ Ilona Andrews

For these dances the boys send corsages, which I keep afterward and keep in my bureau drawer; squashed carnations and brown-edged rosebuds, wads of dead vegetation, like a collection of floral shrunken heads. ~ Margaret Atwood

Red

Red is the wine, red are the carnations.
Red is beautiful. Red flowers and red.
Color itself is beautiful.
The red color is red.
Red is the flag, red the poppy.
Red are the lips and the mouth.
Red are the reality and the
Fall. Red are many Blue Leaves.

Yellow

Yellow is the sand of the earth.
Yellow is the color of the bronze forests.
Yellow is the hearts of flowers.
Yellow are the asters.
Yellow is the meadow. of money.
the franc is yellow.–brunette.
i have seen a yellow franc.
yellow is for example my pencil.

Violet

The color was rose-red
then blue came along and cried
viola viola violeta.
violet was lovely but only in the sky.
quite simply this color was
lovely you violet.
The cry of violet colors.

Blue

The Red Color.
The Yellow Color.
The Dark Green.
The Sky ELLENO
The Patentender
The Pedestal, The Ship.
The Rainbow.
The Sea
The Shoreleaves
The Water
The Leaf Vein
The Kleyf (R) "r."
The Locks + The Lock. ~ Herbeck

For some reason he remembered the Mexican name for carnations. Somebody must have told him when he was a kid. They were called Nails of Love ---and marigolds , the Nails of Death. It was a word lie nails---claveles. Maybe he'd better put marigolds on his mothers grave. ~ John Steinbeck

I think I'm beginning to understand
how hearts fit together.
Not like diseased carnations that lean against their crutches.
Not like vines that twine tight, throttling their hosts.
But like two trees:
two systems of deep, untangled roots,
two patterns of flowering branches,
whose leaves drink their own sunlight
and breathe their own air.
Two trees with something slung between them,
a hammock or a tapestry or a swing,
some third, beautiful thing
that neither would die without.
Hearts fit together like hands.
Not by necessity.
By choice. ~ Riley Redgate

Mad Rogan was walking next to me with that same confident stride that had made me notice him back in the arboretum, and I knew precisely where he was and how much distance separated us. My whole body was focused on him. I wanted him to touch me. I didn't want him touching me. I was waiting for him to touch me. I didn't know what the hell I wanted.
"Did you like the carnations?"
I reached into my pocket and handed him a small red card. "Texas Children's Hospital is grateful to you for your generous donation. Thanks to you, every one of their rooms has beautiful flowers this morning. They think it might be at least partially tax deductible, and if your people talk to their people, the hospital will provide the necessary paperwork."
Mad Rogan took the card, brushing my hand with his warm, dry fingers. The card shot out of his hand and landed in the nearby trash bin. ~ Ilona Andrews

Advice"

I must do as you do? Your way I own
Is a very good way, and still,
There are sometimes two straight roads to a town,
One over, one under the hill.
You are treading the safe and the well-worn way,
That the prudent choose each time;
And you think me reckless and rash to-day
Because I prefer to climb.
Your path is the right one, and so is mine.
We are not like peas in a pod,
Compelled to lie in a certain line,
Or else be scattered abroad.
'T were a dull old world, methinks, my friend,
If we all just went one way;
Yet our paths will meet no doubt at the end,
Though they lead apart today.
You like the shade, and I like the sun;
You like an even pace,
I like to mix with the crowd and run,
And then rest after the race.
I like danger, and storm, and strife,
You like a peaceful time;
I like the passion and surge of life,
You like its gentle rhyme.
You like buttercups, dewy sweet,
And crocuses, framed in snow;
I like roses, born of the heat,
And the red carnation's glow.
I must live my life, not yours, my friend,
For so it was written down;
We must follow our given paths to the end,
But I trust we shall meet--in town. ~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox

If you gave me a fresh carnation, I would only crush its tender petals ... ~ Paul Weller