Best 977 quotes in «rose quotes» category

A Tear drop upon your sould will bloom as the rose that is hidden deep within your soul" rdp

A thorn defends the rose, harming only those who would steal the blossom.

A thorn is a rose's friend but a gardener’s enemy.

At the end; highest happiness will be, a white rose, in the garden of your eternal dreams.

...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.

A woman's heart is a deep ocean of secrets. But now you know there was a man named Jack Dawson and that he saved me...in every way that a person can be saved. I don’t even have a picture of him. He exists now...only in my memory.

But this rose is an extra. Its smell and its color are an embellishment of life, not a condition of it. It is only goodness which gives extras, and so I say again that we have much to hope from the flowers.

Be like a rose; no matter how many thorns you encounter in life, bloom.

Belikov is a sick, evil man who should be thrown into a pit of rabid vipers for the great offense he commited against you this morning." "Thank you." I said primly. Then, I considered. "Can vipers be rabid?" "I don't see why not. Everything can be. I think. Canadian geese might be worse than vipers, though." "Canadian geese are deadlier than vipers?" "You ever try to feed those little bastards? They're vicious. You get thrown to vipers, you die quickly. But the geese? That'll go on for days. More suffering." "Wow. I don't know whether I should be impressed or frightened that you've thought about all of this.

But Rose? While I'm fine with you two dating and being happy, please try not to brake his heart too much when the time comes.

Count the roses, not the thorns.

Can a rose survive in winter?

Death offers you thorns, eternity offers you roses, and life offers you both.

Daisies that bring you joy are better than roses that bring you sorrow.

Demon possession strains the boundaries of credulity, given the sheer number of times it seems to happen. One would really hope demons had better things to do with their time.

Deep down there is a rose in every heart.

Don't wait for people to dress your bed for you, do it yourself and you'll be glad to sleep and feel relaxed.

Don't pluck a rose's petals and then ask the rose why it is sad.

Don't worry know what you can't change. rest when you can so you'll be ready for tomorrows battle.

Did you know," he said slowly, "That Victor Dashkov is sitting on your bed?" "Yeah," I said. "It was kind of a shock to us too.

Dmitri was in my arms.

Don't waste time looking at the thorns or you'll miss the roses.

Dressed as a man, her horse unencumbered by anything but the bare necessities, she had the look of a survivor, a fighter, and he respected the hell our of her for it, especially when she slid the pistol out of one of the saddlebags and aimed it at him.

Flowers are evil, because they live just to die for the love of other people. You don’t believe me? Try it for yourself and see if you’ll be good afterwards. Undeath is a way of life, for some things. That doesn’t make it good or anything. Especially anything. Nothing makes anything anything. Because nothing is a serious matter, and anything just is.

Everyone will say I'm insane, but I don't care, Rose. Is it insane to marry the girl I love? A girl with golden brown hair, with gifts of beauty and goodness and storytelling?

Focus your energy on the fragrance and beauty of the petals not on the thorns.

Dubai, with all of its glitz and glamour rose in the heart of the desert.

Era una giornata perfetta per passeggiare tra i roseti, il sole splendeva alto nel cielo e la brezza mite spargeva nell’aria il profumo di quelle splendide rose rosse. Mi concentrai sulle sensazioni di benessere che stavo provando: il profumo, la frescura, la vista rilassante del parco a perdita d’occhio. Ma in fondo al cuore sapevo che il motivo della mia gioia era un altro. Il suo nome era Scott ...

Flowers are prettiest where they are watered the most.

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.

Gifted Deirdre cast the spell that enabled our souls to eventually be reunited. She couldn't bear for us to be apart, and neither could I.

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

From here to Jerusalem no woman has a more beautiful neck; it was smooth and soft to the touch. She had a bosom as white has the snow upon a branch, when it has just fallen. Her body as well made and svelte; you would not have had to seek anywhere on earth to find a woman with a more beautiful body. She had a pretty chaplet of gold embroidery. There was never a girl more elegant or better arrayed; nor would I have described her right. Above the chaplet of gold embroidery was one of fresh roses, and in her hand she held a mirror, and she had arranged her hair with a rich head-band.

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

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 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.

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.

I came from the gutter and i rose into a flower

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

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?

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

If roses were not special weeds would not envy them.

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

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