Best 23 quotes in «lavender quotes» category

Her love was like lavender, delicate and melancholy.

After Twiss went out the barn, Milly went up to their bedroom with the brown paper bag. She looked out the window before she turned it upside down and the bars of lavender soap shaped like seashells and the card shaped like a rectangle came tumbling out. Asa's name graced the front of the card. A note graced the back. 'I know why you did it, Milly. Bella swings a golf club just like him.' Milly sat a long time on her old twin mattress, staring at the fleur-de-lis carved into the headboard, at the life that didn't belong to her and the life that did, before she placed the soaps beneath the velvet tray in her jewelry box and closed it. She never washed her hands with a single one of the seashell-shaped soaps, although from time to time, when Twiss had gone for a walk or to the barn, she'd open her jewelry box and examine her only secret. 'La joie de vivre.' The scent of lavender. Forgiveness. Age-old love.

At the door to the shop, a bell tinkled, and moments later they seemed to enter the very flowering of lavender. The scent was all around them; it curled and diffused in the air with a sweet warmth and subtlety, then burst with a peppery, musky intensity. The blind girls moved into another room. There they arranged themselves expectantly around a long wooden table, Mme Musset welcomed them, and a cork was pulled with a squeaky pop. "This is pure essence of lavender, grown on the Valensole plateau," said Madame. "It is in a glass bottle I am sending around to the right for you all to smell. Be patient, and you will get your turn." Other scents followed: rose and mimosa and oil of almond. Now that they felt more relaxed, some of the other girls started being silly, pretending to sniff too hard and claiming the liquid leapt up at them. Marthe remained silent and composed, concentrating hard. Then came the various blends: the lavender and rosemary antiseptic, the orange and clove scent for the house in winter, the liqueur with the tang of juniper that made Marthe unexpectedly homesick for her family's farming hamlet over the hills to the west, where as a child she had been able to see brightness and colors and precise shapes of faces and hills and fruits and flowers.

Blonde hair and blue eyes," she repeated. "The lavender fairy." "Now, hang on a minute!" "Just like the lavender fairy has. There's an old story about the beautiful fairy called Lavandula who was born in the wild lavender of the Lure mountain. She grew up and began to wander further from the mountain, looking for somewhere special to make her home. One day she came across the stony, uncultivated landscapes of Haute Provence, and the pitiful sight made her so sad she cried hot tears- hot mauve tears that fell into the ground and stained it. And that is where, ever afterwards, the lavender of her birthplace began to grow.

Estelle had even tried her own concoction of rosemary and lavender, which she plucked from the little herb garden around the back of her cottage. Boiling the leaves down until only their dark oils remained, she would then mix in a good amount of Umbrian olive oil sent by her niece, Gloria, from London. The oil left her Mediterranean skin taut like snappy brindle berries, a fact that spurred envy among the old townswomen and prompted Dervla Quigley to spread rumors that Estelle Delmonico had made a deal with the fairies, for sure.

(The raindrops) played across the coast all through the night, until the soft new day shrugged itself awake, tried on amethyst and lavender for a while, and finally decided on pale yellow.

He unzipped the nylon case, and inside was a discolored frame that smelled like smoke. A thin layer of soot covered the painting under the glass- a picture of an old manor house. Gothic Victorian. Wisteria climbed the wall near the entrance, the pale-lavender blossoms clinging to the gray stone. The artist had brushed flowers below the windows as well, though those colors had been muted by the smoke damage.

His ego and complex always overpowered his emotions.

I believe that for every illness or ailment known to man, that God has a plant out here that will heal it. We just need to keep discovering the properties for natural healing.

Seasons passed by. I always loved to watch the trees in our garden. With the first rain, the leaves would drench themselves. Slowly they would grow tired of the rain and droop. So would I, grow tired of waiting for him to look at me, talk to me. Slowly the leaves would dry up, and fall to the ground. It resembled a naked and shameless woman, trying to woo her husband. And the season would change, and the leaves would shoot slowly trying to gain the lost vigor. It would start blooming and look in its best form. The tree would be so overwhelmed by its own beauty that it would call upon the butterfly and birds. It would make everyone happy. But has anyone wondered how it feels? It feels like me.

Meanwhile, spring came, and with it the outpourings of Nature. The hills were soon splashed with wild flowers; the grass became an altogether new and richer shade of green; and the air became scented with fresh and surprising smells -- of jasmine, honeysuckle, and lavender.

Humans were so very good at fucking, so desperate to engage in it, and yet so uncomfortable talking about it.

I walked back to the front of the bakery to see a knot of people stalking our display for June. Apricot and lavender might seem like an unusual pairing, but it made perfect sense to me. Luscious, sweet apricots taste best when they're baked and the flavor is concentrated. On the other hand, lavender likes it cool; the buds have a floral, almost astringent flavor. Lavender was a line drawing that I filled in with brushstrokes of lush apricot.

She wandered to one of the lavender stalks and touched the tiny violet-blue blossoms, and brought her scented fingertips to her throat. "They extract the essential oil by forcing steam through the plants and drawing off the liquid. It takes something like five hundred pounds of lavender plants to produce just a few precious ounces of oils.

Stella crossed to the sink beneath the window to fill the kettle. "Would you like lavender tea?

We were strangers under the same roof. We were perfect pretenders in the stage of the world.

The next day she carried her secret weapon to school in her satchel. She was tingling with excitement. She was longing to tell matilda about her plan of battle. In fact, she wanted to tell the whole class. But she finally decided to tell nobody. It was better that way, because then no one, even when put under the most severe torture, would be able to name her as a culprit.

Rachael dropped her handbag on the kitchen bench and sat on a stool. “How do you cope with everything?” “I have staff. Donna is still here. She helps in the gift shop. Pete and Courtney work on the farm. They work longer hours when the lavender is harvested. Karen and Sue - you haven’t met them - help me make lavender candles and pot pourri

Add a drop of lavender to milk, leave town with an orange, and pretend you're laughing at it.

As far as what I do love, I love birds; I love lavender.

Before bed, I read a book or flip on the radio - I'm not picky, I'll just turn it on and see what comes up. I burn a yummy lavender- scented candle.

I put a drop of lavender essential oil on my pillow before I go to sleep.

Lavender is the new pink. I'll never stop wearing pink but I wanted to venture out.