Thought is the blossom; language the bud; action the fruit behind it.
— Ralph Waldo Emerson bud quote
A word is a bud attempting to become a twig. How can one not dream while writing? It is the pen which dreams. The blank page gives the right to dream.
— Gaston Bachelard
There is a budding morrow in midnight.
— John Keats
I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart)I am never without it (anywhere
I go you go,my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling)
I fear no fate (for you are my fate,my sweet)I want no world (for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)
— bud quotation by E. E. cummings
Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, old Time is still a-flying: And this same flower that smiles today, tomorrow will be dying.
Her body calculated to a millimeter to suggest a bud yet guarantee a flower.
Faded the flower and all its budded charms,Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes,Faded the shape of beauty from my arms,Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise!Vanishd unseasonably
And the day came when the risk it took to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.
Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good;
a shining gloss that fadeth suddenly; a flower that dies when it begins to bud; a doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower, lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour. -
There are two modes of criticism. One which crushes to earth without mercy all the humble buds of Phantasy, all the plants that, though green and fruitful, are also a prey to insects or have suffered by drought. It weeds well the garden, and cannot believe the weed in its native soil may be a pretty, graceful plant. There is another mode which enters into the natural history of every thing that breathes and lives, which believes no impulse to be entirely in vain, which scrutinizes circumstances, motive and object before it condemns, and believes there is a beauty in natural form, if its law and purpose be understood.
Slow buds the pink dawn like a rose From out night's gray and cloudy sheath;
Softly and still it grows and grows, Petal by petal, leaf by leaf.
We are not to make the ideas of contentment and aspiration quarrel, for God made them fast friends. A man may aspire, and yet be quite content until it is time to raise; and both flying and resting are but parts of one contentment. The very fruit of the gospel is aspiration. It is to the heart what spring is to the earth, making every root, and bud, and bough desire to be more. -
For all his learning or sophistication, man still instinctively reaches towards that force beyond. Only arrogance can deny its existence, and the denial falters in the face of evidence on every hand. In every tuft of grass, in every bird, in every opening bud, there it is.
Perseverance gives power to weakness, and opens to poverty the world's wealth.
It spreads fertility over the barren landscape, and buds the choicest flowers and fruits spring up and flourish in the desert abode of thorns and briars.
All our progress is an unfolding, like a vegetable bud.
You have first an instinct, then an opinion, then a knowledge as the plant has root, bud, and fruit. Trust the instinct to the end, though you can render no reason.
For me chemistry represented an indefinite cloud of future potentialities which enveloped my life to come in black volutes torn by fiery flashes, like those which had hidden Mount Sinai. Like Moses, from that cloud I expected my law, the principle of order in me, around me, and in the world. I would watch the buds swell in spring, the mica glint in the granite, my own hands, and I would say to myself: I will understand this, too, I will understand everything.
In the marvellous month of May when all the buds were bursting,then in my heart didlove arise.In the marvellous month of Maywhen all the birds were singing,then did I reveal to hermy yearning and longing.
Language is a living thing. We can feel it changing. Parts of it become old: they drop off and are forgotten. New pieces bud out, spread into leaves, and become big branches, proliferating.
It's the relationships between people that are more important than the sort of far away fantasies of what the good life is, the world of supermodels and Bud ads.
Once we hit forty, women only have about four taste buds left: one for vodka, one for wine, one for cheese, and one for chocolate.
We had this budding baby band going and we hadn't reached that development we wanted to reach before we got signed to a major label.
In the 21st century our tastes buds, our brain chemistry, our biochemistry, our hormones and our kitchens have been hijacked by the food industry.
In June as many as a dozen species may burst their buds on a single day.
No man can heed all of these anniversaries; no man can ignore all of them.
And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.
Plants that wake when others sleep. Timid jasmine buds that keep their fragrance to themselves all day, but when the sunlight dies away let the delicious secret out to every breeze that roams about.
Half a world away nations that once lived under oppression and tyranny are now budding democracies due in large part to America 's leadership and the sacrifices of our military.
Mr Speaker, I smell a rat; I see him forming in the air and darkening the sky; but I will nip him in the bud.
A brier rose whose buds yield fragrant harvest for the honey bee.
The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within.
I still do a bit of this and a bit of that.
Some brews and there's nothing wrong with a bud or two! I still do a bit of this and a bit of that. Some brews and there's nothing wrong with a bud or two!
Another female household-hinter gave me a recipe for a big hearty main dish of elbow macaroni, mint jelly, lima beans, mayonnaise and cheese baked until 'hot and yummy.' Unless my taste buds are paralyzed, this dish could be baked until hell freezes over and it might get hot but never 'yummy.
I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded;
not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night.
Aware that his disappointment has its source in a defective education, he looks with anxiety on his other daughters, whose minds, like lovely buds, are beginning to open. Where shall he find a genial soil in which he may place them to expand?
Taiwan is a budding democracy, and the people have participated in multi-party democratic elections since 1996.