Florist Quotes

When I started at 9, I was working with plaster. I worked with a florist. It was a little illegal for kids to work. They would give you tips because they couldn't really give you wages. ~ Riccardo Tisci

I went to school to learn to be a hairdresser. I worked at a wholesale florist, where I delivered to florists all over New Jersey. I'd come home and go out to work down at the Shore. The early jobs, I remember, were $5, $6 a night. And I lived in the projects right until the time I became successful. ~ Frankie Valli

It's a scientific fact that there are only a handful of jobs you're allowed to have if you're one of the leads in a romantic comedy: dog walker, architect, kindergarten teacher, cupcake chef, florist, special needs veterinarian, suspiciously well-paid magazine writer, and independent bookstore owner. So it stands to reason that the likelihood of meeting your soul mate in one is high. ~ Una LaMarche

Famous Playboy Hugh Hefner managed to successfully stop an order of monks from operating a business on his property. The police forced the friars to close down their stall, which was outside the Playboy mansion where they had been selling flowers. Said one friar, well, if it was anyone else we may have gotten away from it, but, unfortunately, only Hugh can prevent florist friars. ~ Colin Mochrie

Yeah, I was a florist. I went to floristry school. ~ Lily Allen

I could quite happily run a florist or a bake shop. ~ Lena Headey

We have seven people who knew the skewers were there: the wedding planner, the reception hall manager, the dressmaker, the florist, the veil-maker, the cake-maker, and the caterer. I haven't ruled out the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker, either. ~ Linda Howard

People peep into boxes at moving stereoscopic prints, imagining they're in other worlds, and the crowd around a glassblower wonders whether icicles have formed in summer. Potted trees revive and suddenly look fresh when a florist sprinkles water on them, while papier-mâché turtles hanging out for sale move in the wind and take on souls. ~ Haruo Shirane

Mom and Dad were married 64 years. And if you wondered what their secret was, you could have asked the local florist - because every day Dad gave Mom a rose, which he put on her bedside table. That's how she found out what happened on the day my father died - she went looking for him because that morning, there was no rose. ~ Mitt Romney

Tonight, I went to look for cypripediums at the florist, and with them I decorated my friend Jerome, whose flesh already complements the subtleties of their orchid-green, brown, and violet sulphurs. Both have the same plump brilliance - as if sticky - both achieve that triumphant state of a substance at its peak - at the extreme accomplishment of itself - that precedes effervescence and purification.

Stretched out on his side, Jerome seemed to be sleeping, his sex introduced into the calyx of a cypripedium, whose liquor inundated him, while a cascade of lively flowery odours escaped from the swarthy bruises that marbleised his rose-coloured secret. ~ Gabrielle Wittkop

On Internment, you can be anything you dream
a novelist or a singer, a florist or a factory worker. You can spend entire afternoons watching clouds so close it's as though you're riding on them. Your life is yours to embrace or to squander. There's only one rule: You don't approach the edge. If you do, it's already over. My brother is proof of that. He has successfully quieted my delusions I held about seeing the ground for myself. ~ Lauren DeStefano

Miss Kuhli (Merrihew had heard it "Cooley" the day before, and had built quite a different picture) was Eurasian. Not since the perfection of ferro-concrete and its self-stressed freedom has architecture been able to match the construction of such eyelids and supraorbital arches as those with which Miss Kuhli had been born. Her hands seemed to be the cooperative work of a florist and a choreographer. Her body had not been designed, but inspired, and her hair was such that it could not be believed at a single glance. ~ Theodore Sturgeon

How about whatever song comes on next, that's our song. It'll be fate."
"We can't just make our own fate."
"Sure we can." Peter reaches over to turn on the radio.
"Wait! Just any radio station? What if it's not a slow song?"
"Okay so we'll put on Lite 101." Peter hits the button.
"Winnie the Pooh doesn't know what to do, got a honey jar stuck on his nose," a woman croons.
Peter says, "What the hell?" as I say, "This can't be our song."
"Best out of three?" he suggests.
"Let's not force it. We'll know it when we hear it, I think."
"Maybe we'll hear it at the prom," Peter offers. "Oh, that reminds me. What color is your dress? My mom's going to ask her florist friend to make your corsage."
"It's dusty pink." It came in the mail yesterday, and when I tried it on for everybody, Trina said it was "the most Lara Jean" dress she'd ever seen. I texted a picture to Stormy, who wrote back, "Ooh-la-la," with a dancing woman emoji.
"What the heck is dusty pink?" Peter wants to know.
"It's like a rose gold color." Peter still looks confused, so I sigh and say, "Just tell your mom. She'll know. ~ Jenny Han

So, what do you do when you know you have two days to live? Eat an entire Bitter Chocolate Death cake all by myself. Reread my favorite novel. Buy eight dozen roses from the best florist in town
the super expensive ones, the ones that smell like roses rather than merely looking like them
and put them all over my apartment. Take a good long look at everyone I love. ~ Robin McKinley

I love jotting down ideas for my blog, so I doodle or take notes on all kinds of stuff that inspires me: the people I meet, boutiques I visit, a florist that just gave me a great idea for an interior-design project, things like that. ~ Maria Sharapova

I try to always have flowers in the house. I have a florist in Chinatown, and they deliver orchids every two weeks. I like living with living things. ~ Phillip Lim

Hey Beautiful,' said a familiar male voice. She opened her eyes. Lucas knelt beside her bed, holding a bouquet of roses in his hands. She sat up and saw more roses all around the room. 'What sis you do, rob a florist?'
He gave her his bad-boy grin, and Kylie felt her heart melt just a little. 'No, but let me just say that my grandmother is going to be really pissed when she sees her garden in the morning. ~ C.C. Hunter

Guy kept his eyes on her. "I brought you some flowers." He held a bouquet wrapped in florist paper behind him, as if uncertain about offering it.
Ivy smiled and stood up, holding out her hands. "Oh!" She looked from the roses to Guy, tears stinging her eyes. "They're lavender."
"I did the wrong thing," Guy said, quickly pulling them away.
Ivy reached for the flowers, her hands catching and holding his. "No! No, they're perfect." She looked into his eyes. "How did you know that
that I love lavender roses?"
He shrugged. "They just seemed right for you. ~ Elizabeth Chandler

I couldn't tell if, as husbands went, Paul was unusual, but he seamed to need lots more care and feeding than I bargained on. If only he'd come with an instruction booklet, like our new steam iron did, or even with a little plastic stick with tips about watering and sunlight, like a florist azalea. ~ Christina Bartolomeo

When Devon Donovan's family buys Isabelle Cooper's florist shop as an investment, she isn't sure if it's the worst thing that could happen ... or her golden opportunity to get the gorgeous billionaire to finally notice her. ~ Susan Meier

I hope you don't mind that we're crashing," Wes says. "I'm trying to escape a hunting expedition. No joke. Dad thinks I'll be more of a man if I can blow a rabbit's head off. And my response? 'Sorry, Dad, but as tempting as it is to obliterate Peter Cottontail first thing on a Sunday morning, I promised Camelia I'd swing by her house, because she's been begging to abuse my body for weeks.'"
"And speaking of being delusional," Kimmie segues, "did I mention that my plan to reunite my parents was totally dumb?" She leads us into my bedroom and then closes the door behind her. "They could smell the setup before their water glasses were even filled."
"How's that?" I ask, taking a seat on my bed.
"The violinist I arranged to serenade them at the table might have been a tip-off," she begins. "Either that, or the wrist corsage I ordered for my mom. I handpicked the begonias and had the florist deliver it right to the table."
"Don't forget about the oyster appetizer you preordered for the occasion," Wes adds.
"Because, you know what they say about oysters, right?" An evil grin breaks out across her face. 'I know, I know." She sighs, before I can even say anything. "I may have gone a little overboard, but what can I say? I'm a dorkus extremus. Hence my outit du jour." She's wearing a Catholic schoolgirl's uniform, a pair of clunky black glasses (with the requisite amount of tape on the bridge), and a cone-shaped dunce cap.
"Yes, but you're a dorkus extremu ~ Laurie Faria Stolarz

I love you," he whispered as I died right there on the spot. It wasn't convenient, my dying the night before my wedding. I didn't know how my mom was going to explain it to the florist. ~ Ree Drummond

Take one flower that you like and get lots of them. And don't try to 'arrange' them. It's surprisingly hard to do a flower arrangement the way a florist does one. Instead, bunch them all together or put them in a series of small vases all down the table. ~ Ina Garten

The black volhv pivoted to me. "I have questions."
"Can it wait?"
"No. Your wedding is in two weeks. Have you prepared your guest list?"
"Why do I need a list? I kind of figured that whoever wanted to show up would show up."
"You need a list so you know how many people you are feeding. Do you have a caterer?"
"No."
"But you did order the cake?"
"Umm…"
"Florist?"
"Florist?"
"The person who delivers expensive flowers and sets them up in pretty arrangements everyone ignores?"
"No."
Roman blinked. "I'm almost afraid to ask. Do you at least have the dress?"
"Yes."
"Is it white?"
"Yes."
He squinted at me. "Is it a wedding dress?"
"It's a white dress."
"Have you worn it before?"
"Maybe."
Ascanio snickered."
"The ring, Kate?"
Oh crap.
Roman heaved a sigh. "What do you think this is, a party where you get to show up, say 'I do,' and go home?"
"Yes?" That's kind of how it went in my head. ~ Ilona Andrews

The real perfectibility of man may be illustrated, as I have
mentioned before, by the perfectibility of a plant. The object of the
enterprising florist is, as I conceive, to unite size, symmetry, and beauty
of colour. It would surely be presumptuous in the most successful
improver to affirm, that he possessed a carnation in which these
qualities existed in the greatest possible state of perfection. However
beautiful his flower may be, other care, other soil, or other suns, might
produce one still more beautiful. ~ Thomas Robert Malthus

ordered me a sky from a florist ~ Angela Carter

justice, n.
I tell you about Sal Kinsey, the boy who spit on me every morning for a month in seventh grade, to the point that I could no longer ride the bus. It's just a story, nothing more than that. In fact, it comes up because I'm telling you how I don't really hate many people in this world, and you say that's hard to believe, and I say, "Well, there's always Sal Kinsey," and then have to explain.
The next day, you bring home a photo of him now, downloaded from the Internet. He is morbidly obese - one of my favorite phrases, so goth, so judgmental. He looks miserable, and the profile you've found says he's single and actively looking.
I think that will be it. But then, the next night, you tell me that you tracked down his office address. And not only that, you sent him a dozen roses, signing the card, It is so refreshing to see that you've grown up to be fat, desperate, and lonely. Anonymous, of course. You even ordered the bouquet online, so no florist could divulge your personal information.
I can't help but admire your capacity for creative vengeance. And at the same time, I am afraid of it. ~ David Levithan

You think that you've moved on.
That you're happier
and now that you think about it -
you're quite glad
that it didn't work out
because you are free
and happy.
You're so happy.
And it's better this way.
"Here,
let me tell you my reasons,"
you say. "Let me explain
what I mean."
After hours of telling
your neighbour and
the florist
and the girl on the bus,
you conclude:
"So, you see? I'm happier now."
You tell the brokenhearted
your tale
and assure them
it's for the best,
"So you see? It was meant to be."
But my dear,
my foolish
hurting dear,
your ego is the bullet
left in the wound.
It's this ego
that needs to explain itself
and justify the battle.
A true warrior
would be too busy
fighting to live. ~ Kamand Kojouri