Water surrounds the lotus flower, but does not wet its petals.— Gautama Buddha
Most Powerful Flower Petal quotations
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.
Do not go to the garden of flowers! O friend! go not there;
In your body is the garden of flowers. Take your seat on the thousand petals of the lotus, and there gaze on the infinite beauty.
Her nakedness was not absolute, for like Manet's _Olympia__, behind her ear she had a poisonous flower with orange petals, and she also wore a gold bangle on her right wrist and a necklace of tiny pearls. I imagined I would never see anything more exciting for as long as I lived, and today I can confirm that I was right.
All Nature bristles with the marks of interrogation-among the grass and the petals of flowers, amidst the feathers of birds and the hairs of mammals, on mountain and moorland, in sea and sky-everywhere. It is one of the joys of life to discover those marks of interrogation, these unsolved and half-solved problems and try to answer their questions.
Somewhere the sense makes copper roses steel roses — The rose carried weight of love but love is at an end — of roses It is at the edge of the petal that love waits.
You are a cosmic flower. Om chanting is the process of opening the psychic petals of that flower.
By plucking her petals, you do not gather the beauty of the flower.
Don't go outside your house to see flowers.
My friend, don't bother with that excursion. Inside your body there are flowers. One flower has a thousand petals. That will do for a place to sit. Sitting there you will have a glimpse of beauty inside the body and out of it, before gardens and after gardens.
One who has never known the turbulence of life, in whom the petals of the mysterious flower within have never opened; such a one may seem happy, may seem a saint, his single track mind may impress the multitude with its power - but he is ill equipped for life's true adventure into the infinite.
Your own self-will and anxiety, your hurry and labor, disturb your peace and prevent Me from working in you. Look at the little flowers, in the serene summer days; they quietly open their petals, and the sun shines into them with its gentle influences. So I will do for you, if you will yield yourself to me.
Every moment of this strange and lovely life from dawn to dusk, is a miracle.
Somewhere, always a rose is opening its petals to the dawn. Somewhere, always, a flower is fading in the dusk.
If you have patience, then you'll also have love.
Patience leads to love. If you forcefully open the petals of a bud, you won't be able to enjoy its beauty and fragrance. Only when it blossoms by following its natural course, will the beauty and fragrance of a flower unfold.
The Buddha, the Godhead, resides quite as comfortably in the circuits of a digital computer or the gears of a cycle transmission as he does at the top of a mountain or in the petals of a flower. To think otherwise is to demean the Buddha - which is to demean oneself.
Spirituality is a flower with a thousand petals: every act, every thought, every talk, every movement of our heart is a part of it.
Kiss me as if you made believe You were not sure this eve, How my face, your flower, had pursed It's petals up.
To regret the exchange of earthly pleasures for the joys of Heaven, is as if the grovelling caterpillar should lament that it must one day quit the nibbled leaf to soar aloft and flutter through the air, roving at will from flower to flower, sipping sweet honey from their cups, or basking in their sunny petals.
Books are attracted to me. They make a beeline for me, and stick to me. I have been so fond of them that at last they have begun to reciprocate. In my hands books burst like ripe fruit. Like magic flowers they unfold their petals to show me the vital thought, the suggestive word, the confirming quotation, the decisive illustration.
Life is a stream On which we strew Petal by petal the flower of our heart.
No bought potpourri is so pleasant as that made from ones own garden, for the petals of the flowers one has gathered at home hold the sunshine and memories of summer, and of past summers only the sunny days should be remembered.
The flowers never waste their sweetness on the desert air or, for that matter, on the jungle air. In fact, they waste it only when nobody except a human being is there to smell it. It is for the bugs and a few birds, not for men, that they dye their petals or waft their scents.
Man is incomprehensible without Nature and Nature is incomprehensible apart from man. For the delicate loveliness of the flower is as much in the human eye as in its own fragile petals and in the splendor of the heavens as much in the imagination that kindles at the touch of their glory as in the shining of countless worlds.
Think beyond the vase! If you have a vase of flowers on a dining table for a quick dinner party, think about scattering flower petals, leaves, or even fruit along the tabletop.
As flowers carry dewdrops, trembling on the edges of the petals, and ready to fall at the first waft of wind or brush of bird, so the heart should carry its beaded words of thanksgiving; and at the first breath of heavenly flavor, let down the shower, perfumed with the heart's gratitude.
You find a flower half-buried in leaves, And in your eye its very fate resides.
Loving beauty, you caress the bloom; Soon enough, you'll sweep petals from the floor. Terrible to love the lovely so, To count your own years, to say I'm old, To see a flower half-buried in leaves And come face to face with what you are.
I prefer by far the warmth and softness to mere brilliancy and coldness.
Some people remind me of sharp dazzling diamonds. Valuable but lifeless and loveless. Others, of the simplest field flowers, with hearts full of dew and with all the tints of celestial beauty reflected in their modest petals.
I could hear you, talking to the daffodils and tulips, whispering to the fairies that lived inside their petals. Each separate flower had a different family inside it.
Because the soul is like a flower that folds its petals when dark comes, and breathes not its fragrance into the phantoms of the night.
I want you to learn the lesson of the lotus.
This flower springs forth from muddy waters. It raises its delicate petals to the sun and perfumes the world while, at the same time, its roots cling to the elemental muck, the very essence of the mortal experience. Without that soil, the flower would wither and die.
What is so marvelous about living today is that it is possible to extend, like a flower, spreading petals in all directions.
if there are any heavens my mother will(all by herself)haveone.
It will not be a pansy heaven ora fragile heaven of lilies-of-the-valley butit will be a heaven of blackred rosesmy father will be(deep like a rosetall like a rose)standing near myswaying over her(silent)with eyes which are really petals and seenothing with the face of a poet really whichis a flower and not a face withhandswhich whisperThis is my beloved my(suddenly in sunlighthe will bow,and the whole garden will bow)
The wind, one brilliant day, called to my soul with an odor of jasmine.
"In return for the odor of my jasmine, I'd like all the odor of your roses." "I have no roses; all the flowers in my garden are dead." "Well then, I'll take the withered petals and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain." the wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself: "What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?
The problem, if anything, was precisely the opposite.
I had too much to write: too many fine and miserable buildings to construct and streets to name and clock towers to set chiming, too many characters to raise up from the dirt like flowers whose petals I peeled down to the intricate frail organs within, too many terrible genetic and fiduciary secrets to dig up and bury and dig up again, too many divorces to grant, heirs to disinherit, trysts to arrange, letters to misdirect into evil hands, innocent children to slay with rheumatic fever, women to leave unfulfilled and hopeless, men to drive to adultery and theft, fires to ignite at the hearts of ancient houses.
I don't care what town you're born in, what city, what country.
If you're a child, you are curious about your environment. You're overturning rocks. You're plucking leaves off of trees and petals off of flowers, looking inside, and you're doing things that create disorder in the lives of the adults around you.
You cannot disturb the tiniest petal of a flower without the troubling of a distant star.