Best 977 quotes in «rose quotes» category

He'd make her work so hard that a job as a cardboard-box presser at the margerine factory would seem like paradise.

Her joyful spirit would bring laughter and happiness to anyone in her life with the same natural ease that a rose blooms and sheds its perfume.

Her Prince! He might not be the handsomest man on earth. Not even the richest one too but he would have the purest of the heart and soul and he will love her with the same purity throughout eternity. He would be her Prince.

He will never let her go. Never. she belongs to him..Forever.

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 guardians someday. I need to protect her at all cost. If a pack of Strigoi 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.

How is it different?" He rolled his head back, sable hair falling down on his shoulders. "With Rose I knew what to say. I could take a step back and talk to her. I remembered all the crap from the magaznies. It was easy." "And with me, it's hard?" Why? Because she was a swamp girl? And how did the magazines fit into it? William looked away from her. "I don't like it when you're away. If I don't see you, I can't settle down. If I see you talking with another man, I want to claw his throat out. And none of the things you're supposed to say fit." Oh, this had to be good. "What sort of things?" He sighed. "The lines. Like, 'You're my everything,' or 'Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?

I am always positive, prosperous-minded and filled with self-confidence.

If roses were not special weeds would not envy them.

If roses did not suffer thorns on their journey to beauty, they would lose out on becoming masterpieces.

If roses tried to be sunflowers, they would lose their beauty; and if sunflowers tried to be roses, they would lose their strength.

If there are many thorns in your life, it is because you are a rose.

If the rose is beautiful flower, it is also because it opens. (Si la rose est belle fleur, - C'est aussi parce qu'elle s'ouvre.)

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.

If you love a rose, you have to love its thorns too.

If you want to be a walking-rose, wear red clothes!

I had Lissa's number memorized and I sent her the following note: I know what you're going to do, and it is a BAD idea. I'm going to kick both your asses when I find you.

I have brought you the rose of love, and you have crowned me, in these dark hours, with their thorns.

I have questions," she said. "Ask away." Poppy decided to be blunt. "Are you dangerous? Everyone says you are." "To you? No." "To others?" Harry shrugged innocently. "I'm a hotelier. How dangerous could I be?" Poppy gave him a dubious glance, not at all deceived. "I may be gullible, Harry, but I'm not brainless. You know the rumors... you're well aware of your reputation. Are you as unscrupulous as you're made out to be?" Harry was quiet for a long moment, his gaze fixed on a distant cluster of blossoms. The sun threw its light into the filter of branches, scattering leaf shadows over the pair in the arbor. Eventually he lifted his head and looked at her directly, his eyes greener than the sun struck rose leaves. "I'm not a gentleman," he said. "Not by birth, and not by character. Very few men can afford to be honorable while trying to make a success of themselves. I don't lie, but I rarely tell everything I know. I'm not a religious man, nor a spiritual one. I act in my own interests, and I make no secret of it. However, I always keep my side of a bargain, I don't cheat, and I pay my debts." Pausing, Harry fished in his coat pocket, pulled out a penknife, and reached up to cut a rose in full bloom. After neatly severing the stem, he occupied himself with stripping the thorns with the sharp little blade. "I would never use physical force against a woman, or anyone weaker than myself. I don't smoke, take snuff, or chew tobacco. I always hold my liquor. I don't sleep well. And I can make a clock from scratch." Removing the last thorn, he handed the rose to her, and slipped the knife back into his pocket. Poppy concentrated on the satiny pink rose, running her fingers along the top edges of the petals.

I like 'Rose' better, I think. 'Aurora' implies something ethereal and unattainable. Not like a beautiful, sweet-smelling flower.

He finds his way up the side of my neck, biting me just a little, moving lightly back and forth, like he's searching for a special spot. When he finds it, I make small sound I've never heard myself make before, like a gasp. He traces his tongue in slow circles around that spot. I realise my hands are just lying in my lap, doing nothing. I concentrate on lifting my arm and reaching for his face, but he catches my hand and holds it tightly at the wrist. His lips leave the spot and find their way back to my mouth, which is waiting, hoping for his return. He plants a gentle kiss on my lower lip and then whispers in my ear, "I just got lucky, Rose.

He is deaf, and keen to accept, any economical operation, that will correct his situation. He visited the doctor best, and started talking on subject, like the after-effects, and if any threats. The doctor medically checked, and asked him what he expects? He expressed, he wants to be addressed- in words, and not in signs. And how keen he is, to have his ears listening. He wants to listen the echo of, sun-set over that crimson dawn. He is keen to know, the sound of, a blooming rose. He wants to know what it sounds like, when a seedling grows. But Doctor- if you say: You are incapable, then I better get away, for then there is- nothing worth to be heard, in your seemingly wordy world.

Her niece had the parenting skills of a … Rose didn’t even know how to finish that sentence. Any creature in nature so incapable of caring for its young would have died out centuries ago.

He stopped. She heard the intake of his breath. “You are my country, Desdemona.” Yearning, harsh and poignant and she felt herself swaying toward him. “My Egypt. My hot, harrowing desert and my cool, verdant Nile, infinitely lovely and unfathomable and sustaining.” She gasped. His gaze fell, shielded by his lashes. An odd, half-mocking smile played about his lips. “You’ll never hear old Blake say something like that.” She swallowed, unable to speak, her senses abraded by his stimulating words, her pulse hammering in anticipation? Trepidation? “Remember my words next time he calls you a bloody English rose.

I came from the gutter and i rose into a flower

If a rose is full of thorns, it does not mean it's not full of beauty.

Il y a des mots qu'on peut prendre dans la main. Et certains qui ont une odeur... Par exemple, "poêle à frire". Je n'aime pas dire "poêle à frire", la pièce est aussitôt pleine de fumée grasse. - Et qu'est-ce que tu dis alors ? Elle réfléchit. "Je dis "rose"." Et je vis le mouvement, je vis le souffle de ses lèvres fleurir comme un bourgeon qui s'ouvre, doucement, avec des feuilles à la respiration sourde, et une odeur merveilleuse. Rose.

I mean to have you, Rose, you and all of your thorns. I'm a disagreeable and stubborn bastard, but I'm not a fool. You didn't really expect me to pass you up, did you?

I’m still alive, I have time to build My blood will outlast the rose.

In a very bad breach of guardian protocol, he caught a hhold of my hand and pulled me towards him."and?" he asked, wrapping me iin his embrace. "I think she'd ask,'What have we gotten ourselves into?

In a world full of daisies dare to be a rose.

In reality, we live in everyone. I live in you. You live in me. There is no gap, no distance. We all are eternally one.

If I had a rose for every day I thought of her, I would have a garden full.

In reality, we live in every one. Deep down there is a rose in every heart.

In the last photograph of her, the bullet wound looked like a cheerful summer rose arranged just above her left ear. A few petals had fallen on her kaffan, the white shroud she was wrapped in before she was laid to rest.

I set off, off to kill the man I loved.

In Struggle flaunt your robust style, In Happiness, simply like a Rose fragrant your smile!

I should go," I said thickly. "Let me know when you want to start practice again. And thanks for...talking." I started to turn; then I heard him say abruptly, "No." I glanced back. "What?" He held my gaze, and something warm and wonderful and powerful shot between us. "No," he repeated. "I told her no." "I..." I shut my mouth before my jaw hit the floor. "But...why? That was a once-in-a-lifetime thing. You could have had a baby. And she...she was, you know, into you..." The ghost of a smile flickered on his face. "Yes, she was. Is. And that's why I had to say no. I couldn't return that...couldn't give her what she wanted. Not when..." He took a few steps toward me. "Not when my heart is somewhere else.

I sprang toward him with the stake, hoping to catch him by surprise. But Dimitri was hard to catch by surprise. And he was fast. Oh, so fast. It was like he knew what I was going to do before I did it. He halted my attack with a glancing blow to the side of my head. I knew it would hurt later, but my adrenaline was running too strong for me to pay attention to it now. Distantly, I realized some other people had come to watch us. Dimitri and I were celebrities in different ways around here, and our mentoring relationship added to the drama. This was prime-time entertainment. My eyes were only on Dimitri, though. As we tested each other, attacking and blocking, I tried to remember everything he'd taught me. I also tried to remember everything I knew about him. I'd practiced with him for months. I knew him, knew his moves, just as he knew mine. I could anticipate him the same way. Once I started using that knowledge, the fight grew tricky. We were too well matched, both of us too fast. My heart thumped in my chest, and sweat coated my skin. Then Dimitri finally got through. He moved in for an attack, coming at me with the full force of his body. I blocked the worst of it, but he was so strong that I was the one who stumbled from the impact. He didn't waste the opportunity and dragged me to the ground, trying to pin me. Being trapped like that by a Strigoi would likely result in the neck being bitten or broken. I couldn't let that happen. So, although he held most of me to the ground, I managed to shove my elbow up and nail him in the face. He flinched and that was all I needed. I rolled him over and held him down. He fought to push me off, and I pushed right back while also trying to maneuver my stake. He was so strong, though. I was certain I wouldn't be able to hold him. Then, just as I thought I'd lose my hold, I got a good grip on the stake. And like that, the stake came down over his heart. It was done. Behind me, people were clapping but all I noticed was Dimitri. Our gazes were locked. I was still straddling him, my hands pressed against his chest. Both of us were sweaty and breathing heavily. His eyes looked at me with pride—and hell of a lot more. He was so close and my body yearned for him, again thinking he was a piece of me I needed in order to be complete. The air between us seemed warm and heady, and I would have given anything in that moment to lie down with him and have his arms wrap around me. His expression showed that he was thinking the same thing. The fight was finished, but remnants of the adrenaline and animal intensity remained.

It is a fact that the human heart differs from all other species. While its function to the body is the same of all animals, its participation with human soul is both rhapsodic and fatal. -Rose

It hurt to kill a dream, like tearing petals off a rose in full bloom.

It's our choices that matter in the end. Not wishes, not words, not promises.

It's the time you spent on your rose that makes your rose so important...People have forgotten this truth, but you mustn't forget it. You become responsible forever for what you've tamed. You're responsible for your rose.

It was late when father and the Duke tracked me down feigning surprise that I was in the usual place every time as if it was a game they played, “Where’s Rose? Why, growing in her usual spot!

Love fades. Mine has.

Love is the only rose whose thorn's prick is sweet.

Love is the softest rose in the soul's garden.

Love sees the thorns but cherishes the rose anyway.

Loving for beauty is like vowing a lifetime commitment to a rose. No-matter how sweet-scented or pink "petald", every rose withers.

I'll catch any rose in my vase-shaped heart, then process it through my vascular system, until there's nothing left.

It is a plain and simple truth that one must endure the harshness of thorns in order to fully appreciate the beauty of a rose.