Just as I wonder whether it's going to die, the orchid blossoms and I can't explain why it moves my heart, why such pleasure comes from one small bud on a long spindly stem, one blood red gold flower opening at mid-summer, tiny, perfect in its hour.— Sam Hamill
Competitive Summer Flower quotations
Accept both compliments and criticism. It takes both sun and rain for a flower to grow.
Here's flowers for you; Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram; The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun And with him rises weeping: these are flowers Of middle summer, and I think they are given To men of middle age.
But how could anyone who's ever seen a summer - big explosion of green and skies lit up electric with splashy sunsets, a riot of flowers and wind that smells like honey - pick the snow?
So plant your own gardens and decorate your soul instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.
Let us dance in the sun, wearing wild flowers in our hair.
Love is to the heart what the summer is to the farmer's year.
It brings to harvest all the loveliest flowers of the soul.
In joy or sadness, flowers are our constant friends.
Normality is a paved road: It's comfortable to walk, but no flowers grow.
Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, Lull'd by the coil of his crystalline streams Beside a pumice isle in Baiæ's bay, And saw in sleep old palaces and towers Quivering within the wave's intenser day, All overgrown with azure moss and flowers So sweet, the sense faints picturing them.
Let your children be as so many flowers, borrowed from God.
If the flowers die or wither, thank God for a summer loan of them.
We should enjoy this summer, flower by flower, as if it were to be the last one we’ll see.
A flower does not think of competing with the flower next to it. It just blooms.
This was one of those perfect New England days in late summer where the spirit of autumn takes a first stealing flight, like a spy, through the ripening country-side, and, with feigned sympathy for those who droop with August heat, puts her cool cloak of bracing air about leaf and flower and human shoulders.
In summer, the song sings itself.
The flowers are Nature's jewels, with whose wealth she decks her summer beauty.
WIth freedom, books, flowers, and the moon, who could not be happy.
A world without a Sabbath would be like a man without a smile, like summer without flowers, and like a homestead without a garden. It is the most joyous day of the week.
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand.
The dance grew into a colorful flower bouquet which caught and contained the glow of sun-happy summer days, the secret of star-studded nights, and the wistful sweetness of overcast and rainy hours.
If you love a flower, don't pick it up. Because if you pick it up it dies and it ceases to be what you love. So if you love a flower, let it be. Love is not about possession. Love is about appreciation.
Let life be beautiful like summer flowers and death like autumn leaves.
This is the divine moment when we can hold the fairest blossom of spring in one hand and the sweetest flowers of early summer in the other.
In the other gardens And all up the vale, From the autumn bonfies See the smoke trail! Pleasant summer over And all the summer flowers, The red fire blazes, the grey smoke towers. Sing a song of seasons! Something bright in all, Flowers in the summer Fires in the fall!
Be like the flower, turn your face to the sun.
Oh that it were with me As with the flower;
Blooming on its own tree For butterfly and bee Its summer morns: That I might bloom mine hour A rose in spite of thorns. Oh that my work were done As birds' that soar Rejoicing in the sun: That when my time is run And daylight too, I so might rest once more Cool with refreshing dew.
The actual flower is the plant's highest fulfilment, and are not here exclusively for herbaria, county floras and plant geography: they are here first of all for delight.
The nature of this flower is to bloom.
Dead people receive more flowers than the living ones because regret is stronger than gratitude.
Summer set lip to earth's bosom bare, And left the flushed print in a poppy there. I will touch a hundred flowers And not pick one.
T'is the last rose of summer, Left blooming alone.
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.
We enjoy life's garden. Life is the flower for which love is the honey.
In August, the large masses of berries, which, when in flower, had attracted many wild bees, gradually assumed their bright velvety crimson hue, and by their weight again bent down and broke their tender limbs.
Spring comes with flowers, autumn with the moon, summer with the breeze, winter with snow. When idle concerns don't fill your thoughts, that's your best season.
There are having flowers in Spring, breezes in Summer, moon in Autumn, snows in Winter. If there is nothing worrying over you, it will be the best seasons at all times.
Flowers do not bloom without a little rain. Everything has its purpose, even pain.
I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.
The tear, down childhood's cheek that flows, Is like the dewdrop on the rose;
When next the summer breeze comes by And waves the bush, the flower is dry.
What wondrous life is this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head;
The luscious clusters of the vine Upon my mouth do crush their wine; The nectarine and curious peach Into my hands themselves do reach; Stumbling on melons, as I pass, Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.
There are always flowers. For those who want to see them.
And let them pass, as they will too soon, With the bean-flowers' boon, And the blackbird's tune, And May, and June!
Bees do have a smell, you know, and if they don't they should, for their feet are dusted with spices from a million flowers.
Lo! sweeten'd with the summer light, The full-juiced apple, waxing over-mellow, Drops in a silent autumn night. All its allotted length of days The flower ripens in its place, Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil, Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil.
O grant me a house by the beach of a bay, Where the waves can be surly in winter, and play With the sea-weed in summer, ye bountiful powers! And I'd leave all the hurry, the noise, and the fray, For a house full of books, and a garden of flowers.
Thus with the year Seasons return, but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of ev'n or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine.