All flowers are beautiful in their own way, and that's like women too.— Miranda Kerr
Beautiful Beautiful Rose quotations
Let the beauty of what you love be what you do.
Because beautiful things never last. Not roses nor snow… And not fireworks, either
Take the rose—most people think it very beautiful: I don’t care for It at all. I prefer the cactus, for the simple reason that it has a more interesting personality. It has wonderfully adapted itself to its surroundings! It is the best illustration of the theory of evolution in plant life.
Beautiful things don't ask for attention.
A lily or a rose never pretends, and its beauty is that it is what it is.
The red rose whispers of passion, And the white rose breathes of love;
O, the red rose is a falcon, And the white rose is a dove.
If all flowers wanted to be roses, nature would lose her springtime beauty and the fields would no longer be decked out with little wildflowers.
Be brave enough to hold on to the hope that life will be beautiful again.
Flowers have an expression of countenance as much as men or animals.
Some seem to smile; some have a sad expression; some are pensive and diffident; others are plain, honest and upright, like the broad faced sunflower and the hollyhock.
Most of all the other beautiful things in life come by twos and threes, by dozens and hundreds. Plenty of roses, stars, sunsets, rainbows, brothers, and sisters, aunts and cousins, but only one mother in the whole world.
I will be the gladdest thing under the sun! I will touch a hundred flowers and not pick one.
Beauty isn't about having a pretty face. It's about having a pretty mind, a pretty heart and a pretty soul.
Live now, believe me, wait not till tomorrow; Gather the roses of life today.
To lovers, I devise their imaginary world, with whatever they may need, as the stars of the sky, the red, red roses by the wall, the snow of the hawthorn, the sweet strains of music, and aught else they may desire to figure to each other the lastingness and beauty of their love.
The pure soul is a beautiful rose, and the Three Divine Persons descend from Heaven to inhale its fragrance.
Kindness is like snow - it beautifies everything it covers.
We're living in world, stars and dust Between heaven 'n all that surrounds us We're travellers here, spirits passing through And the love we give, is all that will endure Just like a rose after the rain Something beautiful remains Tears will leave no stains Time will ease the pain For every life that fades Something beautiful remains
One of the most tragic things I know about human nature is that all of us tend to put off living.
The little island seemed to float on the dark lake-waters.
Trees grew on it, and a little hill rose in the middle of it. It was a mysterious island, lonely and beautiful. All the children stood and gazed at it, loving it and longing to go to it. It looked so secret - almost magic.
A comfort zone is a beautiful place, but nothing ever grows there.
Time is jealous of you, and wars against your lilies and your roses.
In nature everything is valuable, everything has its place.
The rose, the daisy, the lark, the squirrel, each is different but beautiful. Each has its own expression. Each flower its' own fragrance. Each bird its' own song. So you too have your own unique melody.
My tears are like the quiet drift of petals from some magic rose;
and all my grief flows from the rift of unremembered skies and snows. I think that if I touched the earth, it would crumble; it is so sad and beautiful, so tremulously like a dream.
The ocean is everything I want to be. Beautiful, mysterious, wild and free.
The modest Rose puts forth a thorn,The humble sheep a threat'ning horn:While the Lily white shall in love delight,Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.
Oh my luve's like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June;
Oh my luve's like the melodie That's sweetly played in tune.
My laughter won't last forever but neither will my tears.
We say this life isn't perfect. And it isn't. It isn't perfectly good. But, it also isn't perfectly bad, either.
Blessed are they who see beautiful things in humble places, where other people see nothing.
O, my luve is like a red, red rose.
Beauty never slumbers; All is in her name; But the rose remembers The dust from which it came.
Must you know that yours will be the “better” picture before you pick up the brush and paint? Can it not simply be another picture? Another expression of beauty? Must a rose be “better” than an iris in order to justify it’s existence? I tell you this: you are all flowers in the Garden of the Gods.
Travel and tell no one, live a true love story and tell no one, live happily and tell no one, people ruin beautiful things.
Beauty is an ecstasy; it is as simple as hunger. There is really nothing to be said about it. It is like the perfume of a rose: you can smell it and that is all.
That which God said to the rose, and caused it to laugh in full-blown beauty, He said to my heart, and made it a hundred times more beautiful.
Friendship is like a rose. . . opening one petal at a time, only as it unfolds. . . day by day it reveals its true beauty.
The beautiful thing about learning is that no one can take it away from you.
My mother says that pain is hidden in everyone you see.
She says try to imagine it like big bunches of flowers that everyone is carrying around with them. Think of your pain like a big bunch of red roses, a beautiful thorn necklace. Everyone has one.
Do not be tempted by English roses. Their beauty fades, but their thorns are forever.
Have you ever seen a donkey smelling a beautiful rose? Donkeys aren't interested in roses, they like thorn bushes or watermelon rinds!
Behind every beautiful thing, there's been some kind of pain.
Beware of prejudice; light is good in whatsoever lamp it is burning; a rose is beautiful in whatever garden it may bloom.
We were made to enjoy music, to enjoy beautiful sunsets, to enjoy looking at the billows of the sea and to be thrilled with a rose that is bedecked with dew.
And the rose like a nymph to the bath addrest, Which unveiled the depth of her glowing breast, Till, fold after fold, to the fainting air, The soul of her beauty and love lay bare.
If we spend our days waiting for fabulous roses we could miss the beauty and wonder of the tiny forget-me-nots that are all around us.
It is the qualities of the heart, not those of the face, that should attract us in women, because the former are durable, the latter transitory. So lovable women, like roses, retain their sweetness long after they have lost their beauty.