Best 981 of Rose quotes - MyQuotes
In Struggle flaunt your robust style, In Happiness, simply like a Rose fragrant your smile!
I like 'Rose' better, I think. 'Aurora' implies something ethereal and unattainable. Not like a beautiful, sweet-smelling flower.
I was into alternative stuff, but I was also open to a little bit of hard rock and metal, like Guns N' Roses, Metallica.
Only when your love of roses is greater than your fear of thorns can you grow a beautiful garden.
In "Twilight," the narratives are more literal, and the event is much more spectacular. The pictures in "Beneath the Roses" are much more psychological and grounded in reality.
I had to Derrick Rose the knee up before I got the re-up
A rose would be miserable if it was forced to be a daisy, no matter how much water it was fed.
Often the prickly thorn produces tender roses.
The rose is a rose, And was always a rose. But the theory now goes That the apple's a rose.
Christian Nestell Bovee
Like the withered roses of a once gay garland, the feelings of youth command in age a melancholy interest.
This is the blood's wild tree that grows the intricate and folded rose
Rhianna flashed Rose a small smile. "Sometimes I have a chip on my shoulder. You know, the woe-is-me-I'm-such-a-martyr complex.
It is sad to see a young man's fondest hopes and dreams shattered when the rose-colured veil is plucked away and he sees the actions and feelings of men for what they are. But he still has the hope of replacing his old illusions with others, just as fleeting, but also just as sweet.
Fill the bowl with rosy wine, around our temples roses twine, And let us cheerfully awhile, like wine and roses, smile.
When the Bible uses the words salvation, Savior, and save, it's speaking of the total work of God in bringing people from a state of death - hopeless separation from God - to a state of everlasting life through the forgiveness of sin, based on the merits of Christ Jesus who died and rose again. Saving us is the greatest and most concrete demonstration of God's love, the definitive display of His grace throughout time and eternity.
The purpose of pruning is to improve the quality of the roses, not to hurt the bush.
I feel thankful to God, first and foremost, allowing me to enjoy this 'smell the roses' kind of thing.
They claim that autism naturally occurs at about 18 months, when the MMR is routinely given, so the association is merely coincidental and not causal. But the onset of autism at 18 months is a recent development. Autism starting at 18 months rose very sharply in the mid-1980s, when the MMR vaccine came into wide use. A coincidence? Hardly!
You don't get drown by falling into a river. You get drown by remaining there. Falling accidentally and rising immediately was what distinguished Thomas Edison and Abraham Lincoln from the rest.
I am the one rich thing that morn Leaves for the ardent noon to win; Grasp me not, I have a thorn, But bend and take my being in.
Sir Kristian Goldmund Aumann
I have brought you the rose of love, and you have crowned me, in these dark hours, with their thorns.
When I saw you fall..." "You thought, 'Wow, she's a loser.
It is universally allowed that, though nothing can be more interesting in itself than the conversation of two lovers, yet nothing can be more insipid in detail - just as the heavenly fragrance of the rose becomes vapid and sickly under all the attempts made to retain and embody its exquisite odor.
It hurt to kill a dream, like tearing petals off a rose in full bloom.
What's rose? A tragic or romantic flower?
He listened to her with silent attention, and on her ceasing to speak, rose directly from his seat, and after saying in a voice of emotion, 'To your sister I wish all imaginable happiness; to Willoughby, that he may endeavor to deserve her,' took leave, and went away.
Publishing a book of poetry is like dropping a rose petal down the Grand Canyon and waiting for the echo.
I watch news from the minute I wake up till 11. Then I switch to Charlie Rose. Fox News all the way.
But in vain she did conjure him, To depart her presence so, Having a thousand tongues t' allure him And but one to bid him go. When lips invite, And eyes delight, And cheeks as fresh as rose in June, Persuade delay,-- What boots to say Forego me now, come to me soon.
Roses do not bloom hurriedly; for beauty, like any masterpiece, takes time to blossom.
Sir Kristian Goldmund Aumann
At the end; highest happiness will be, a white rose, in the garden of your eternal dreams.
I guess I kind of lived in a fairytale world... looking at everything through rose-colored glasses. I probably always will, to a certain extent.
William C. Bryant
Father, thy hand Hath reared these venerable columns, thou Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun, Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze, And shot towards heaven.
Poetry is seeing everything when there is only one thing. It is looking at a rose but seeing the stars, moons, seas, and trees. It is a truth beyond logic, an experience beyond thought. Poetry is the Earth pausing on its axis in order to manifest itself as a rose.
O rose! the sweetest blossom, Of spring the fairest flower, O rose! the joy of heaven. The god of love, with roses His yellow locks adorning, Dances with the hours and graces.
Love and a red rose can't be hid.
Seeing the mud around a lotus is pessimism, seeing a lotus in the mud is optimism.
Violet has the shortest wavelength of the spectrum. Behind it, the invisible ultraviolet. Roses are Red, Violets are Blue. Poor violet, violated for a rhyme.
O, the red rose may be fair, And the lily statelier; But my shamrock, one in three Takes the very heart of me!
Patrick thought we should try to put an audience in front of one of the workshops, basically in front of the class and see how the performers rose to having an audience there, because he said, "You know, it's a really interesting test, because sometimes it gets even funnier.
I liked The Slipper and the Rose, as I have already mentioned, because it was such a lovely film to do.
Two people, one city, different times; connected by a memoir. Can love exist in a city destined for decades of misery?
He'd make her work so hard that a job as a cardboard-box presser at the margerine factory would seem like paradise.
I wrote home to say how lovely everything was, and I used flourishing words and phrases, as if I were living life in a greeting card - the kind that has a satin ribbon on it, and quilted hearts and roses, and is expected to be so precious to the person receiving it that the manufacturer has placed a leaf of plastic on the front to protect it.
the rest of the guardians are all checking out the explosion," I realised. Pieces began coming together-including Lissa's lack of surprise over the commotion. "Oh no. You had Christian blow up ancient Moroi artifacts." "Of course not," said Eddie. He seemed shocked that I would have suggested such an atrocity. "Other fire users would be able to tell if he did." "Well, that's something," I said. I should have had more faith in their sanity. Or maybe not. "We used C4," explained Mikhail. "Where on earth did you-
...a work of art is like a rose. A rose is not beautiful because it is like something else. Neither is a work of art. Roses and works of art are beautiful in themselves.
If you don't have anything useful to offer, then get out of here and let us wait until hunger weakens Sonya." And by get out of here, I meant: foolishly think you're going to leave so that I can knock your heads together and drag you back to the guardians.
Sterling W Sill
A story is told that Whistler once painted a tiny picture of a spray of roses. The artistry involved in the picture was magnificent. Never before, it seemed, had the art of man been able to execute quite so deftly a reproduction of the art of nature.
She held up the pen and gave him a lazy grin. "It's a rose." He came close. "It's a pen." He tried to pluck it from her hand. "You are seriously lacking in imagination.
Twisting and wiring and stringing starching and curling, delicately painting spots and shadings on scraps of silk until what had been nothing more than a pile of brightly colored fragments had been transformed into the silk irises, forget-me-not, violets and roses that would adorn the hats of women and girls more fortunate than themselves.