flowers

I believe that flowers are like people. Flowers come in different colours, shapes and sizes. Some extremely_rare and some very common. They are all beautiful in their own unique way.

I appreciate the beauty and balm of flowers but I have never enjoyed receiving them because then I have to watch them die, and worse...throw them away.

As soon as I turned the key I saw it hanging, the color of fire and sunset. the colour of flamboyant flowers. __f you are buried under a flamboyant tree, _ I said, __our soul is lifted up when it flowers. Everyone wants that.__he shook her head but she did not move or touch me.

Don't waste hate on pink geranium.

God will reward you,' he said. 'You must be an angel since you care for flowers.

Look, hasn't my body already felt like the body of a flower?

Certain girls deserve lots of flowers. You are one of them.

Love is like dried flowers sometimes. Even though you watch the petals shrink and change colour, you cannot help treasuring them

A hammer with flowers is still a hammer for the nail!

If you are a kind and a peaceful person, you will see yourself when you look at an elegant flower!

Whenever we see a deserted rose, we immediately think about a broken relationship and we imagine the sadness they went through without thinking the poor dead rose ever!

Anybody can be a flower! Yes, you can be a flower too! Just be gentle and innocent; give no harm to anyone! And now you are a flower!

But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy waysI cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet..Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

And that night he couldn't sleep, but lay looking out at the light June night which was full of lonely whisperings and rustlings and the pattering of feet. The air was sweet with the smell of flowers.

An Evening AirI go out in the grey eveningIn the air the odor of flowers and the sounds of lamentation.I go out into the hard loneliness of the barren field of grey eveningIn the air the odor of flowers and the sounds of lamentation.In the gathering darkness a long, swift train suddenly Passes me like a lighting.Hard and ponderous and loud are the wheels.As ponderous as the darkness, and as beautiful.I look on, enchanted, and listen to the sounds of lamentationIn the soft fragrant air.The long rails, grey-dark, smooth as a serpent, shiver, andA soft, low thing cries out in the distance,But the sounds are hard and heavy,In the air the odor of flowers and the sounds of lamentation.

Real love ought to be more like a tree and less like a flower. That's the kind of love my parents had. Not so consuming and more everlasting. And you see that tree over there? Now it's only showing green leaves, but during the spring it's covered in flowers. Because as reliable as trees are, they can also speak of beauty and passion.

An enemy is like a man's most prized flower. It brings him joy to see it buried in the ground.

What branch does not have its leaves and which twig will not have its flowers?