Best 977 quotes in «rose quotes» category

She believes in love, in destiny and she knows ...she feels her prince in her destiny. She just has to wait for the right time.....

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.

She is a rose, Jest. Lovely on the eyes, yes, but such thorns are not to be ignored.

She is not an ordinary girl. She is my fairy who will change my life and make it beautiful with her smiles.

She leaned in to smell the apricot-tinted rose whose petals had just unfolded into a ruffled cup. The scents of lemon, myrrh, and peach floated up, and Sorrel once again wondered why anyone would name a rose Jude the Obscure.

She might not be cinderella to lose her shoe to find her prince or Rapunzel for that matter who will lift him up to set her free only to be lost in him, or Snow-white to be kissed and awakened by a Prince or any other princesses but yet she knows, she believes her destiny has a Prince in store for her - Her man. She would be his Princess and he would be her prince.

She's the Queen Bitch of Castle Hell. If you mess with her, she'll eat you alive.

She was chaos and beauty intertwined. A tornado of roses from divine.

Sí, pero nosotros estamos vivos, Rose. No podemos dejar de vivir porque otras personas estén muertas

sixty years old and lives for the 3 f's--friends, family, and France.

So, if he wants to treat me like I’m ten instead of twenty, that’s okay. If he wants to have one of his company cars take me and pick me up from school, that’s okay. And if he insists that I live with him until I graduate college, that’s okay. But I’ll be damned if he’s going to stop me from seeing Christian.

Somehow my soul remembers it all, hers doesn't.

Sometimes the purpose of the rose is simply to draw attention to the rose.

Some thorns have roses.

...sometimes we can’t enjoy the bloom of a rose because we’re too busy crying over being pricked by the thorn.

Stars do not hide from darkness. Roses do not hide from thorns. Diamonds do not hide from pressure.

So, regarding that tidbit about your having a fertile imagination when it comes to private activities," she said, fighting off anxiety. "Was it another lie?" "Depends on how you look at it. It's not exactly a lie, and if you come with me to the Weird, you'll find that rumors of my 'creativity' when it comes to bed games with the opposite sex do exist. I started them myself and managed them very carefully. The trick with rumors is to feed them once in a while, so they don't die.

So what if he is not part of my present but he is in my future, I know. And everyday I'm going a step closer to my future, to him.

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN ME AND YOU When I hold a rose, I see the soft, velvety petals and smile, because tucked between those precious petals is a special gift - the one of a fragrance, pure and sweet. When you hold a rose, you see the thorns along the stem, and you frown because those thorns can bring you pain and cause you to bleed. I see the gift. You see the tragedy. More and more I fear that one of these days someone will hand me a rose and all I will see are thorns. Talk about tragedy.

Stop fighting me!" he said, trying to pull on the arm he held. He was in a precarious position himself, straddling the rail as he tried to lean over far enough to get me and actually hold onto me. “Let go of me!” I yelled back. But he was too strong and managed to haul most of me over the rail, enough so that I wasn’t in total danger of falling again. See, here’s the thing. In that moment before I let go, I really had been contemplating my death. I’d come to terms with it and accepted it. I also, however, had known Dimitri might do something exactly like this. He was just that fast and that good. That was why I was holding my stake in the hand that was dangling free. I looked him in the eye. "I will always love you." Then I plunged the stake into his chest. It wasn’t as precise a blow as I would have liked, not with the skilled way he was dodging. I struggled to get the stake in deep enough to his heart, unsure if I could do it from this angle. Then, his struggles stopped. His eyes stared at me, stunned, and his lips parted, almost into a smile, albeit a grisly and pained one. "That’s what I was supposed to say. . .” he gasped out. Those were his last words.

- Then… it was like… I don’t even know how to describe it. Color and light and music and life and joy and love… so many wonderful things, all the lovely things that make up the world and make it worth living.

The evening Bartolomeo left her the radish rose, he also ignored the words of her gray-haired mother and gave Stella an extra serving of pappardelle, made fresh from ricotta, eggs, and goat milk, fried to perfection and dusted in sugar. They were called "gobble-ups" for a good reason, and the principessa was pleased to indulge, that is until her mother bade Bartolomeo to take the plate away. She glared at her mother and snatched one last fritter. Sugar coated the edge of her pretty lips and Bartolomeo thought he might swoon. He would give anything to kiss the sweetness away. The rose was gone when he went to clear the plates. He could only hope she had secreted it away in the finely embroidered saccoccia hanging at her hip.

The loveliest roses sometimes bear the ugliest thorns.

The more you love roses the more you must bear with thorns.

The most beautiful rose still has to contend with ugly thorns.

Then the best thing I can do is—" He froze. The brown eyes that had been narrowed with aggravation suddenly went wide with...what? Amazement? Awe? Or perhaps that stunned feeling I kept having when I saw him? Because suddenly, I was pretty sure he was experiencing the same thing I had earlier. He'd seen me plenty of times in Siberia. He'd seen me just the other night at the warehouse. But now...now he was truly viewing me with his own eyes. Now that he was no longer Strigoi, his whole world was different. His outlook and feelings were different. Even his soul was different. It was like one of those moments when people talked about their lives flashing before their eyes. Because as we stared at one another, every part of our relationship replayed in my mind's eye. I remembered how strong and invincible he'd been when we first met, when he'd come to bring Lissa and me back to the folds of Moroi society. I remembered the gentleness of his touch when he's bandaged my bloodies and bettered hands. I remembered him carrying me in his arms after Victor's daughter Natalie had attacked me. Most of all, I remembered the night we'd been together in the cabin, just before the Strigoi had taken him. A year. We'd known each other only a year but we'd lived a lifetime in it. And he was realizing that too, I knew as he studied me. His gaze was all-powerful, taking in every single one of my features and filing them away. Dimly, I tried to recall what I looked like today. I still wore the dress from the secret meeting and knew it looked good on me. My eyes were probably bloodshot from crying earlier, and I'd only had time for a quick brushing of my hair before heading off with Adrian. Somehow, I doubted any of it mattered. The way Dimitri was looking at me...it confirmed everything I'd suspected. The feelings he'd had for me before he'd been turned-the feelings that had become twisted while a Strigoi—were all still there. They had to be. Maybe Lissa was his savior. Maybe the rest of the Court thought she was a goddess. I knew, right then, that no matter how bedraggled I looked or how blank he tried to keep his face, I was a goddess to him.

The flames rose and the properties devalued into ash.

The next gen won't ever know the thrill of finding an old, desiccated rose buried inside a book. Because none would be reading books anyway.

There is a rose in every heart. Enlightenment is recognizing that rose.

The petals are the texture of his lips. The color is mine.

There are no roses in my yard: what wind brought you? But I suddenly come from far away. I was sick for a moment. No wind whatsoever brought you now. Now you’re here. What you were isn’t you, or else the whole rose would be here.

There is a rose in me In there Somewhere, amongst the thorns Do you dare?

There was an old belief that in the embers Of all things their primordial form exists, And cunning alchemists Could re-create the rose with all its members From its own ashes, but without the bloom, Without the lost perfume Ah me! what wonder-working, occult science Can from the ashes in our hearts once more The rose of youth restore? What craft of alchemy can bid defiance To time and change, and for a single hour Renew this phantom-flower?

There is no way to find a logical way to deal with this when logic isn't involved.

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-

The rose I gave you was an emblem of my heart,' said she; 'would you take it away and leave me here alone?' 'Would you give me your hand too, if I asked it?' 'Have I not said enough?

The rose draws our eye and the thorn our blood.

They whirled around in the light dance of a duchess entering a ball—majestic yet understated—a spiraling splash of purity of color that took shape under nature’s watch. A newly-sculpted garden burst forth, glistening in an afternoon sun. It welcomed the dusty pink rose, who stood beside its fellows, basked themselves in their own serenity of white, triumphant red, or cheery yellow. It swayed in the breath of a wind, caressing each and becoming more. It was a mixture of quiet and thunderous, light and dark, shyness and boldness. It was a mixture of the quiet strength and overwhelming courage that the human soul might wish to one day possess.

The sky blue strengthens slowly, the dawn light rosy and pale the summer song of our romance begin to unveil...with every heart beat and the waves' breath...the time stood in harmony still. Your morning kiss my hands could feel...by your lips soft, so warm, so very gentle, nice and full of life...

The spell. Victor said you had to want me... to care about me... for it to work." When he didn't say anything, I tried to grip his shirt, but my fingers were too weak. "Did you? Did you want me?" His words came out thickly. "Yes, Roza. I did want you. I still do. I wish... we could be together." "Then why did you lie to me?" We reached the clinic, and he managed to open the door while still holding me. As soon as he stepped inside, he began yelling for help. "Why did you lie?" I murmured again. Still holding me in his arms, he looked down at me. I could hear voices and footsteps getting closer. "Because we can't be together." "Because of the age thing, right?" I asked. "Because you're my mentor?" His fingertip gently wiped away a tear that had escaped down my cheek. "That's part of it," he said. "But also... well, you and I will both be Lissa's gaurdians someday. I need to protect her at all cost. If a pack of Strogoi come, I need to throw my body between them and her." I know that. Of course that's what you have to do." The black sparkles were dancing in front of my eyes again. I was fading out. "No. If I let myself love you, I won't throw myself in front of her. I'll throw myself in front of you.

They all knew about me and Dimitri," I said, wondering if I'd be saying any of this sober. "But I never told them we were together."  "You didn't have to. It's written all over your face." "They acted like I was his widow or something." "You might as well be." We reached the room, and she helped me sit down on the bed. "Not a lot of people get married around here. If you're with someone long enough, they figure it's almost the same." ~Rose & Sydney, Pg.140/141

Tu reviendras me dire adieu, et je te ferai cadeau d'un secret.

To ensure the fairytale ends well, I will stand by her side until she trusts me.

Tonight I miss you like the sky misses his moon; a delicate epiphany growing on grass. I serenade the breeze into dancing a cha cha cha; the mountains echo in the background. September sky never looked more charming; or the sublime petals of the rose looked so graceful.

Two people, one city, different times; connected by a memoir. Can love exist in a city destined for decades of misery?

We live in everyone. I live in you. You live in me. There is no gap, no distance.

We could, you know, go out for hot dogs. Don’t worry—they’re not actually dogs. It’s just a name. They’re these meat things that you put on buns—that’s a kind of bread—and then you top them with other things and—”             “I know what a hot dog is,” interrupted Mark. “You do?” I asked, legitimately surprised. “How?” “We’re not that remote. We have TV and movies. Besides, I’ve left Siberia, you know. I’ve been to the U.S.” “Really? Did you try a hot dog?”             “No,” he said. “I was offered one … but it didn’t look that appetizing.”             “What!” I exclaimed. “Blasphemy. They’re delicious.”             “Aren’t they compressed animal parts?” he pushed.             “Well, yeah… I think so. But so is sausage.”             Mark shook his head. “I don’t know. Something’s just not right about a hot dog.”             “Not right? I think you mean so right.

Whenever we see a deserted rose, we immediately think about a broken relationship and we imagine the sadness they went through without thinking the poor dead rose ever!

What's rose? A tragic or romantic flower?

When the devil offers you a rose, its petals are laced with poison.