Mountain-rose petals Falling, falling, falling now... Waterfall music
— Matsuo Basho
Scandalous Rose Petals 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.
It's like if you plant something in the concrete and if it grow and the rose petal got all kinds of scratches and marks, you ain't gonna say, 'Damn, look at all the scratches and marks on the rose that grew from the concrete.' You're gonna be like, 'Damn, a rose grew from the concrete?'
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.
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.
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.
Even when you tear its petals off one after another, the rose keeps laughing and doesn’t bend in pain. “Why should I be afflicted because of a thorn? It is the thorn which taught me how to laugh.” Whatever you lost through fate, be certain that it saved you from pain.
I do not know who lives here in my chest, or why the smile comes.
I am not myself, more the bare green knob of a rose that lost every leaf and petal to the morning wind.
Do thou smile like the rose at loss and gain;
For the rose, though its petals be torn asunder, Still smiles on, and it is never cast down.
And the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky.
Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart
A rose dreams of enjoying the company of bees, but none appears.
The sun asks: “Aren’t you tired of waiting?” “Yes,” answers the rose, “but if I close my petals, I will wither and die.
Sister you are like rose petals and brother is like the thorns.
When a sister blooms beautifully, a brother is there is protect her so that no one plucks it. Happy Raksha Bandhan!
we wouldn't ask why a rose that grew from the concrete for having damaged petals, in turn, we would all celebrate its tenacity, we would all love its will to reach the sun, well, we are the roses, this is the concrete and these are my damaged petals, dont ask me why, thank god, and ask me how
A book should be a garden that fits in the hands.
Word-petals of color. Stems of strength. roots of truth. Turn a page and turn the seasons. Read the sentence and enjoy the roses.
Marriage is a plastic flower. Love is a real rose, but the real rose is beautiful in the morning; by the evening it is gone. Nobody can say when it will disappear, when the petals will start falling. Just a strong wind and it is no more, just a strong sun and it is no more. But the plastic flower will be there; come rain, come sun, come anything, the plastic flower will be there. In fact, plastic is the only permanent thing in the world.
Dead fields under a November sky, scattered rose petals brown and turning up at the edges, empty pools scummed with algae, rot, decomposition, dust.
Her body was wrapped in shadows like moth wings, like rose-petals.
Focus on the heart center and feel love.
There is a flower there, but it's like a rose folded up. As you meditate, feel that the flower is opening. Each time you open a set of petals you're going deeper into eternal awareness.
There is no end to the petals of the inner rose.
Continue to unfold set after set of petals until you have completed your meditation session.
Visualize a beautiful rose in the center of your chest.
Imagine a soft reddish rose. Imagine that the rose is completely folded up. Visualize the first set of petals is gradually unfolding.
With the withering of the rose, and with each fallen petal, Allah is reminding us that everything here is passing away. He is reminding us that nothing in this world will remain, except for Allah.
There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass.
Whenever the world throws rose petals at you, which thrill and seduce the ego, beware.
As flowerlets drooped and puckered in the night turn up to the returning sun and spread their petals wide on his new warmth and light-just so my wilted spirits rose again and such a heat of zeal surged through my veins that I was born anew.
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)
Your slightest look easily will unclose me, though I have closed myself as fingers, you open petal by petal myself a Spring opens her first rose.
It has been well said that an author who expects results from a first novel is in a position similar to that of a man who drops a rose petal down the Grand Canyon of Arizona and listens for the echo.
Salt is added to dried rose petals with the perfume and spices, when we store them away in covered jars, the summers of our past.
Valentine's Day money-saving tips: Break up on February 13th, get back together on the 15th. In place of bubble bath, use lavender-scented dish-washing liquid. Forget rose petals. Sprinkle the bed with sliced beets!
Valentine's Day money-saving tip: Break up on February 13th, get back together on the 15th.
The streets weren't paved with gold and Rose petals [when I was young]. "Do I have a horn to sell this month to pay my rent, or what am I going to do?" It was what it was.
The rose petal floats on water. The kingfisher flashes above the pond. Life and beauty swirl in the midst of death.
Runes, runes, runes... Runes. An inverted Algiz rune. The caption next to it said “Chernobog.” The Black God. Right. Of course, it wouldn’t be Chernobog, God of Morning Dew on the Rose Petals, but a woman could always hope.
We have a long way to go to being the perfect couple, we certainly don’t live the fairy tale marriage, he doesn’t shower me with rose petals and fly me to Paris on weekends but when I get my hair cut, he notices. When I dress up to go out at night, he compliments me. When I cry, he wipes my tears. When I feel lonely, he makes me feel loved. And who needs Paris, when you can get a hug?
Publishing a volume of verse is like dropping a rose petal down the Grand Canyon and waiting for the echo.
Writing a book of poetry is like dropping a rose petal down the Grand Canyon and waiting for the echo.
I’m not complaining about Romance Being Dead - I’ve just described a happy marriage as based on talking about plants and a canceled Ray Romano show and drinking milkshakes: not exactly rose petals and gazing into each other’s eyes at the top of the Empire State Building or whatever. I’m pretty sure my parents have gazed into each other’s eyes maybe once, and that was so my mom could put eyedrops in my dad’s eyes.
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 difference between you and her (whom I to you did once prefer) Is clear enough to settle: She like a diamond shone, but you Shine like an early drop of dew Poised on a red rose petal. The dew-drop carries in its eye Mountain and forest, sea and sky, With every change of weather; Contrariwise, a diamond splits The prospect into idle bits That none can piece together.
Today my winged horse is coming and I am carrying you off to the moon and on the moon we will eat rose petals.
They had a year of joy, twelve months of the strange heaven which the salmon know on beds of river shingle, under the gin-clear water. For twenty-four years they were guilty, but this first year was the only one which seemed like happiness. Looking back on it, when they were old, they did not remember that in this year it had ever rained or frozen. The four seasons were coloured like the edge of a rose petal for them.
Curse him for being all tight muscle, with ivory skin and a mouth as soft as rose petals. Curse him for having hair as fair as the sun, and eyes as black as night. Curse him for having the grace of a cat and deft, cool hands. And now I am having the same argument on paper that I have in my own head on too many nights. I know my choice is sensible, but it isn't my common sense I think with, those times Rosto's stolen a kiss from me.
Friendship is like a rose. . . opening one petal at a time, only as it unfolds. . . day by day it reveals its true beauty.
Once a blooming red rose, full of streaming life in its veins. Now a wilting black petal rupturing with death and pain.
Yep, that's me. I know. I know. You're humbled I'm here, feel like throwing rose petals at my feet, blah, blah, blah. No need, though. Just try and think of me as a normal guy -William