Rare Flower Quotes

Her smile didn't mean her suffering was over, but when it appeared it was something beautiful to see; a rare flower. ~ Melissa C. Water

They're about a woman whose beauty is like a rare flower. There is a man who has a great love for her, a love he's been saving up for his entire life, and it doesn't matter that he must make a great journey to her, and it doesn't matter if their time together is brief, that afterward he might lose her, for she is the flower of his heart and nothing will keep him from her. ~ Adam Johnson

She was like some rare flower grown for exhibition, a flower from which every bud had been nipped except the crowning blossom of her beauty. ~ Edith Wharton

A child's eyes, those clear, wells of undefiled thought - what on earth can be more beautiful? Full of hope, love and curiosity, they meet your own. In prayer, how earnest; in joy, how sparkling; in sympathy, how tender! The man who never tried the companionship of a little child has carelessly passed by one of the great pleasures of life, as one passes a rare flower without plucking it or knowing its value ~ Caroline Norton

Mr. Kendrick was born on a horse and he'll die on one, and maybe that's not something you can breed for. He's one of those rare men who can make a horse work for him but never asks for more than they have. WOW. Very unexpected. ~ Maggie Stiefvater

He who olny does not appreciate floral beauty is to be pitied like any other man who is born inperfect. It is a misfortune not unlike blindness. ~ Henry Ward Beecher

I love blue more than any other color. I am inordinately attracted to any blue substance: to minerals like turquoise and lapis lazuli, to sapphires and aquamarines; to cobalt skies and blue-black seas; Moslem tiles - and to a blue flower whether or not it has any other merit. ~ Eleanor Perenyi

Any event that has occurred just five times since the first animal with a backbone appeared, some five hundred million years ago, must qualify as exceedingly rare. ~ Elizabeth Kolbert

This is where you belong. This is where you were meant to bloom. Don't roll your eyes, Galaxy. Not every flower belongs in every garden. ~ Leigh Bardugo

All the radiance of April in Italy lay gathered together at her feet. The sun poured in on her. The sea lay asleep in it, hardly stirring. Across the bay the lovely mountains, exquisitely different in color, were asleep too in the light; and underneath her window, at the bottom of the flower-starred grass slope from which the wall of castle rose up, was a great cypress, cutting through the delicate blues and violets and rose-colors of the mountains and the sea like a great black sword.

She stared. Such beauty; and she there to see it. Such beauty; and she alive to feel it. Her face was bathed in light. ~ Elizabeth Von Arnim

On the edge of dreaming when the brain lets go, when it stops its scheming, our blood runs slow... Then the heart speaks clearly of the things it knows, things it brought so dearly at the evening's glow... And a misty sunset fills the west with yellow, gold and scarlet red. The bowl of space a dawn sheds light upon our silky bed. For you I send refreshing rain to wash the past away. A quiet breeze drifts warmly across your tired face. It brings the scents from flower climbs, and leaves without a trace. With vines and newborn stars in our hair...undressed, bronzed platinum we are as summer in your golden church... Like whispers lost at sea...we soar beyond the sky of fire...in harmony within the clash of elements... Together lost and free to claim our each desire. Like leaves we float to earth, once more...forbidden passion, romantic eyes, and heated lips...two burning amber hearts released and drinking slowly mysterious champagne of heaven sweetest rest... ~ Oksana Rus

Once a flower is picked it immediately begins to die. ~ Nenia Campbell

So he doesn't tick any of my usual boxes, but there's something in the way he looks at me. In his eyes, there's this strange kind of appreciation that is part attraction, part something else that makes me feel rare and precious and . . . seen. ~ Cora Carmack

One way can be learned by starting to see the magic in everything. Sometimes it seems to be hiding but it is always there. The more we can see the magic in one thing, a tiny flower, a mango, someone we love, then the more we are able to see the magic in everything and in everyone. Where does the mango stop and the sky begin? ~ Joshua Kadison

You should never feel lonely, neglected, fearful, or defeated when you remember that there are the shining ones. They are watching with keen interest and a great desire to help to raise you, to stimulate you into contact with your own superior inner resources. ~ Flower A. Newhouse

It was roses, roses, all the way,
With myrtle mixed in my path like mad. ~ Robert Browning

Beauty is an exquisite flower, and its perfume is virtue. ~ Giovanni Ruffini

All thinkers then agree in making the contraries principles, both those who describe the All as one and unmoved (for even Parmenides treats hot and cold as principles under the names of fire and earth) and those too who use the rare and the dense. (20) ~ Aristotle.

It dawned on me with blinding brightness. I realized: I had jumped into another rare kind of stratosphere - one that only a handful of people in every generation are lucky enough to know. ~ Jesse Owens

Whenever she felt like crying, she would instead become angry - at someone else or at herself - which meant that it was rare for her to shed tears. ~ Haruki Murakami

Picnic, Lightning

It is possible to be struck by a meteor
or a single-engine plane
while reading in a chair at home.
Safes drop from rooftops
and flatten the odd pedestrian
mostly within the panels of the comics,
but still, we know it is possible,
as well as the flash of summer lightning,
the thermos toppling over,
spilling out on the grass.

And we know the message
can be delivered from within.
The heart, no valentine,
decides to quit after lunch,
the power shut off like a switch,
or a tiny dark ship is unmoored
into the flow of the body's rivers,
the brain a monastery,
defenseless on the shore.

This is what I think about
when I shovel compost
into a wheelbarrow,
and when I fill the long flower boxes,
then press into rows

the limp roots of red impatiens -
the instant hand of Death
always ready to burst forth
from the sleeve of his voluminous cloak.

Then the soil is full of marvels,
bits of leaf like flakes off a fresco,
red-brown pine needles, a beetle quick
to burrow back under the loam.
Then the wheelbarrow is a wilder blue,
the clouds a brighter white,

and all I hear is the rasp of the steel edge
against a round stone,
the small plants singing
with lifted faces, and the click
of the sundial
as one hour sweeps into the next. ~ Billy Collins

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

Botany, n. The science of vegetables - those that are not good to eat, as well as those that are. It deals largely with their flowers, which are commonly badly designed, inartistic in color, and ill-smelling. ~ Ambrose Bierce

A Chinese philosophical work called The Secret of the Golden Flower says that "when purpose has been used to achieve purposelessness, the thing has been grasped." For a society surviving to no purpose is one that makes no provision for purposeless behavior - that is, for actions not directly aimed at survival, which fulfill themselves in being done in the present and do not necessarily imply some future reward. ~ Alan W. Watts

Are those chocolate chip?' Cole reaches her first and claims one.
'Oh, my godness.' Nana sets the tray aside and coos the guy. 'Cole, dear, you have a boulder-size knot on your jaw.'
'River did it.' Cole smirks at the guy. 'And he insulted my mom. And my dad.'
'River Marks.' Nana shakes her head, as if her heart is acually breaking. 'How could you be so rough? And so insensitive!'
River glares at Cole before bowing his head. 'I'm sorry, Nana.'
'The human body is like a flower. Treat it well, and it will bloom.' She approaches the ring and extends two cookies. River and I accept with eager thanks. 'Let's be kind to each other and keep our punches away from the face and groin.' 'Yes, ma'am,' we say in unison. Then of course, we devour the offering as if we've never tasted sugar.
'Good, good.' She brushes the crumbs from her fingers. 'I'll leave you kids to your practice.' She kisses Ali, then Cole, and leaves.
'Are you a rose?' River sneers at Cole. 'Or a lilly?'
'Orchid. And your jealousy is showing.' Cole responds. ~ Gena Showalter

As long as he retains externally the habits of a Christian he can still be made to think of himself as one who has adopted a few new friends and amusements but whose spiritual state is much the same...And while he thinks that, we do not have to contend with the explicit repentance of a definite, fully recognised, sin, but only with his vague, though uneasy, feeling that he hasn't been doing very well lately. This dim uneasiness needs careful handling. If it gets too strong it may wake him up...if you suppress it entirely...we lose an element in the situation which can be turned to good account. If such a feeling is allowed to live, but not allowed to become irresistible and flower into real repentance, it has one invaluable tendency. It increases the patient's reluctance to think about the Enemy. All humans at nearly all times have some such reluctance; but when thinking of Him involves facing and intensifying a whole vague cloud of half-conscious guilt, this reluctance is increased tenfold...In this state your patient will not omit, but he will increasingly dislike, his religious duties...He will want his prayers to be unreal, for he will dread nothing so much as effective contact with the Enemy. ~ C.S. Lewis

I'll never be like this again . . . I'll never again feel as tall as the sky and as old as the hills and as strong as the sea. I've been given something for a while, and the price of it is that I have to give it back.

And the reward is giving it back, too. No human could live like this. You could spend a day looking at a flower to see how wonderful it is, and that wouldn't get the milking done. No wonder we dream our way through our lives. To be awake, and see it all as it really is...no one could stand that for long. ~ Terry Pratchett

It is a very rare church indeed that encourages its members to think for themselves in religious matters, or even tolerates this, and in most of them the clergy are quite ready to lay down the law in other fields too. ~ Anne Roe

Canned reference is practically always loaded with problems. Photos, for example, contrive to kill imagination and stifle the natural development of creative patterns. While "ready-mades" do show up from time to time, they are rare. Art need not be what is seen-but what is to be seen. "Nature," said James McNeill Whistler, "is usually wrong." ~ Robert Genn

My dream as an actor growing up was always to challenge myself to different genres, different roles, and it's actually rare that an actor's given that opportunity to do that. ~ Taylor Lautner

The scenery when it is truly seen reacts on the life of the seer. ~ Henry David Thoreau

The flower doesn't dream of the bee. It blossoms and the bee comes. ~ Mark Nepo

When I do entertain, in the summer, which is rare, I receive my guests on the front porch, set up wicker trays found at Pottery Barn, and serve iced beverages. Anytime I do welcome friends, it's always a tray of canapes or Planters peanuts, jellied candy from Paris, and a good bottle of Sancerre. ~ Andre Leon Talley

Those eyes are seriously flirting with my pulse
and I cannot let that happen.
.
If I'm ever too tired for you, then there'd be something seriously wrong with me, babe.
.
I press a kiss on her forehead, then turn around, feeling half of me is still where she's standing.
.
I am stunned, but my feet are making their way toward him like he's a magnet and I'm a scrap of metal. I can't stop. Part of me wants to. A very small part. But I know I can't.
.
There is one flower here for every day that I have known and loved you, Natalia. One hundred and seventy two, to be exact. ~ J.Q. Anderson

(G)aiety and kindness and tolerance and understanding were the gifts he bestowed upon the world. Wherever he went, he squandered these rare possessions in a most magnificent and bountiful manner, for he knew (what all wise people have realized since the beginning of time) that the only treasures which are truly ours are those we lay up in the hearts of our friends. ~ Hendrik Willem Van Loon

Constant acts of goodness are worth far more than rare acts of greatness. ~ Ron Kaufman

A rose lay open in full bloom
and, looking from my garden room,
I watched the sun-baked flower fill with rain.
It seemed so fragile,
resting there,
and such a silence filled the air,
the beauty of the moment caused me pain.
"What more?" I thought. "There must be more."
As if in answer then, I saw
one weighty drop that caused my rose to fall.
It trembled, then cascaded down
to earth just staining gentle brown
and, since then, I've felt different.
That's all. ~ Julie Andrews Edwards

In life, idea and emotion come separately. Mind and passions revolve in different spheres of our humanity, rarely coordinated, usually at odds. In fact, in life, moments that blaze with a fusion of idea and emotion are so rare, when they happen you think you're having a religious experience. But whereas life separates meaning from emotion, art unites them. Story is an instrument by which you create such epiphanies at will, the phenomenon known as aesthetic emotion. ~ Robert McKee

It is fashionable nowadays to talk about the endless riches of the sea. The ocean is regarded as a sort of bargain basement, but I don't agree with that estimate. People don't realize that water in the liquid state is very rare in the universe. Away from earth it is usually a gas. This moisture is a blessed treasure, and it is our basic duty, if we don't want to commit suicide, to preserve it. ~ Jacques-Yves Cousteau

It's bright pinky-white sand was made entirely of shell dust, like star dust, among which, if you sifted it with your fingers, were infant shells as small as the grains but perfectly shaped. Scattered over the surface were larger shells of many kinds and shapes, some as delicate as flower petals, others, though small, built to withstand any battering sea. ~ L.M. Boston

I place flowers in the very first rank of simple pleasures; and I have no very good opinion of the hard worldly people who take no delight in them. ~ Mary Russell Mitford

All right, now that the weirdness between us has caused actual physical damage, I think it's time we talked it out, don't you?"
He gave a half smile and then turned back to the path. "We don't need to be weird," he said. "These past few days, since the thing with Elodie, I've been thinking." He took a deep breath, and I knew that this was one of those rare occasions when Cal was about to say a lot of words at once. "I like you, Sophie. A lot. For a while, I thought it might be more than that. But you love Cross."
He said it matter-of-factly, but I still caught the way his ears reddened. "I know I've said some pretty awful stuff about him, but…I was wrong. He's a good guy. So, I guess what I'm saying is that as the guy who's betrothed to you, I wish we could be more than friends." He stopped, turning around to face me. "But as your friend, I want you to be happy. And if Cross is who you want, then I'm not gonna stand in the way of that."
"I'm the worst fiancé ever, aren't I?"
Cal lifted one shoulder. "Nah. This one warlock I knew, his betrothed set him on fire."
Laughing so I wouldn't cry, I tentatively lifted my arms to hug him. He folded me against his chest, and there was no awkwardness between us, and I knew the warmth in the pit of my stomach was love. Just a different kind.
Sniffling, I pulled back and rubbed at my nose. "Okay, now that the hard part's over, let's go tackle the Underworld."
"Got room for two more?"
Startled, I turn ~ Rachel Hawkins

Life has left her footprints on my forehead. But I have become a child again this morning. The smile, seen through leaves and flowers, is back to smooth away the wrinkles, as the rains wipe away footprints on the beach. Again a cycle of birth and death begins. ~ Nhat Hanh

There is a certain poetic value, and that a genuine one, in this sense of having missed the full meaning of things. There is beauty, not only in wisdom, but in this dazed and dramatic
ignorance. ~ Gilbert K. Chesterton

Abundance is mine. I cannot be deprived of my supply. The trees do not lack for leaves, nor do the flowers fail to bloom. ~ Ernest Holmes

With understanding, those we love will certainly flower. ~ Nhat Hanh

Falling in love at five or six, although rare, is the same as falling in love at fifty. One may interpret one's feelings differently, the outcome may be different, but the state of feeling and of being is the same. ~ John Berger

Some people bring out the worst in you, others bring out the best, and then there are those remarkably rare, addictive ones who just bring out the most. Of everything.
They make you feel so alive that you'd follow them straight into hell, just to keep getting your fix. ~ Karen Marie Moning

Gaea?" Leo shook his head. "Isn't that Mother Nature? She's supposed to have, like, flowers in her hair and birds singing around her and dear and rabbits doing her laundry."
"Leo, that's Snow White," Piper said. ~ Rick Riordan

Made up of corallitic accretions and painful increments, lit on rare occasions by bolts of revelation, and then stuffed behind the wainscotting to grope in the mouse-turd dust, art is the equivalent of athlete's foot, at best an exquisite itch, at worst an excuse to stop walking. On the emotional side, it is either masturbation with a hockey glove or a night beneath the sliding moon that shames Eros. ~ Harold Town

I envy you going to Oxford: it is the most flower-like time of one's life. One sees the shadow of things in silver mirrors. Later on, one sees the Gorgon's head, and one suffers, because it does not turn one to stone. ~ Oscar Wilde