Quotes about flower
page 10

Asger Jorn photo
Isaac Watts photo

“A flower, when offered in the bud,
Is no vain sacrifice.”

Isaac Watts (1674–1748) English hymnwriter, theologian and logician

Song 12: "The Advantages of early Religion".
1710s, Divine Songs Attempted in the Easy Language of Children (1715)

Thomas Moore photo

“Life is a waste of wearisome hours
Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns;
And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers,
Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns.”

Thomas Moore (1779–1852) Irish poet, singer and songwriter

O! think not my spirits are always as light, st. 1
Irish Melodies http://www.musicanet.org/robokopp/moore.html (1807–1834)

Alfred Noyes photo
Francis Thompson photo
Harold Monro photo
Torquato Tasso photo

“p>'Ah, see,' he sang, 'the shamefast, virgin rose
first bursting her green bud so timidly,
half hidden and half bare: the less she shows
herself, the lovelier she seems to be.
Now see her bosom, budding still, unclose
and look! She droops, and seems no longer she—
not she who in her morning set afire
a thousand lads and maidens with desire.So passes in the passing of a day
the leaf and flower from our mortal scene,
nor will, though April come again, display
its bloom again, nor evermore grow green.”

Torquato Tasso (1544–1595) Italian poet

Deh mira (egli cantò) spuntar la rosa
Dal verde suo modesta e verginella;
Che mezzo aperta ancora, e mezzo ascosa,
Quanto si mostra men, tanto è più bella.
Ecco poi nudo il sen già baldanzosa
Dispiega: ecco poi langue, e non par quella,
Quella non par che desiata innanti
Fu da mille donzelle e mille amanti.<p>Così trapassa al trapassar d'un giorno
Della vita mortale il fiore, e 'l verde:
Nè, perchè faccia indietro April ritorno,
Si rinfiora ella mai, nè si rinverde.
Canto XVI, stanzas 14–15 (tr. Wickert)
Gerusalemme Liberata (1581)

Wayland Hoyt photo
Isocrates photo
Ervin László photo
George William Russell photo
Dio Chrysostom photo
Franz Marc photo
Adi Da Samraj photo
Ausonius photo

“They wander in deep woods, in mournful light,
Amid long reeds and drowsy headed poppies
And lakes where no wave laps, and voiceless streams,
Upon whose banks in the dim light grow old
Flowers that were once bewailèd names of kings.”

Errantes silva in magna et sub luce maligna<br/>inter harundineasque comas gravidumque papaver<br/>et tacitos sine labe lacus, sine murmure rivos,<br/>quorum per ripas nebuloso lumine marcent<br/>fleti, olim regum et puerorum nomina, flores.

Ausonius (310–395) poet

Errantes silva in magna et sub luce maligna
inter harundineasque comas gravidumque papaver
et tacitos sine labe lacus, sine murmure rivos,
quorum per ripas nebuloso lumine marcent
fleti, olim regum et puerorum nomina, flores.
"Cupido Cruciator", line 5; translation from Helen Waddell Mediaeval Latin Lyrics ([1929] 1943) p. 31.

Amit Chaudhuri photo
Pierre-Auguste Renoir photo

“What seems most significant to me about our movement is that we have freed painting from the importance of the subject. I am at liberty to paint flowers and call them flowers, without their needing to tell a story.”

Pierre-Auguste Renoir (1841–1919) French painter and sculptor

Quoted in: Charles Altieri (1989) Painterly Abstraction in Modernist American Poetry, p. 169: Talking about the movement of Impressionism.
undated quotes

Andrew Marvell photo
Jean Metzinger photo
Felicia Hemans photo
Gautama Buddha photo
Lydia Maria Child photo

“Flowers have spoken to me more than I can tell in written words. They are the hieroglyphics of angels, loved by all men for the beauty of the character, though few can decypher even fragments of their meaning.”

Lydia Maria Child (1802–1880) American abolitionist, author and women's rights activist

1840s, Letters from New York (1843)
Source: Letters from New York http://www.bartleby.com/66/58/12260.html, vol. 1, letter 26

Elton John photo
Letitia Elizabeth Landon photo

“Ah! love and song are but a dream,
A flower's faint shade on life's dark stream.”

Letitia Elizabeth Landon (1802–1838) English poet and novelist

All from The Vow of the Peacock (Title Poem - Introduction)
The Vow of the Peacock (1835)

Robert G. Ingersoll photo
Francis Bacon photo
Adelaide Anne Procter photo

“I do not ask that flowers should always spring
Beneath my feet
I know too well the poison and the sting
Of things too sweet.”

Adelaide Anne Procter (1825–1864) English poet and songwriter

"Per Pacem ad Lucem".
A Chaplet of Verses (1862)

Thomas Moore photo

“Oh, ever thus, from childhood's hour,
I 've seen my fondest hopes decay;
I never loved a tree or flower
But 't was the first to fade away.
I never nurs'd a dear gazelle,
To glad me with its soft black eye,
But when it came to know me well
And love me, it was sure to die.”

Thomas Moore (1779–1852) Irish poet, singer and songwriter

Lalla Rookh http://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00generallinks/lallarookh/index.html (1817), Part V-VIII: The Fire-Worshippers

Christian Dior photo
Maurice de Vlaminck photo
Yukio Mishima photo
Pauline Kael photo
Galway Kinnell photo
Edward Andrade photo
Anna Akhmatova photo
John Fante photo
James Russell Lowell photo

“Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way,
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold,
First pledge of blithesome [[May],
Which children pluck, and, full of pride uphold.”

James Russell Lowell (1819–1891) American poet, critic, editor, and diplomat

To the Dandelion http://www.gaygardener.com/poems/gpoem072.phtml, st. 1

Frederick Douglass photo
Albert Camus photo

“Autumn is a second Spring when every leaf is a flower.”

Albert Camus (1913–1960) French author and journalist

As quoted in Visions from Earth (2004) by James R. Miller, p. 126

William Morris photo
Enoch Powell photo
Francis Marion Crawford photo
Jean Metzinger photo
Neal A. Maxwell photo
Kakinomoto no Hitomaro photo

“When I gathered flowers
For my girl
From the top of the plum tree
The lower branches
Drenched me with dew.”

Kakinomoto no Hitomaro (662–710) Japanese poet

XXII, p. 24
Kenneth Rexroth's translations, One Hundred More Poems from the Japanese (1976)

Chief Seattle photo
Kuvempu photo

“Amidst the early morning dew
Walking across the greenery
And in the evening that is scary
While taking a breath,
Oh, flower, I listen to your song,
Oh flower, I defeat your love.”

Kuvempu (1904–1994) Kannada novelist, poet, playwright, critic, and thinker

"The Flower", a translation of his first Kannada poem "Poovu".

/ Poet, nature lover and humanist (2004)

Jerome K. Jerome photo

“I can understand the ignorant masses loving to soak themselves in drink—oh, yes, it's very shocking that they should, of course—very shocking to us who live in cozy homes, with all the graces and pleasures of life around us, that the dwellers in damp cellars and windy attics should creep from their dens of misery into the warmth and glare of the public-house bar, and seek to float for a brief space away from their dull world upon a Lethe stream of gin. But think, before you hold up your hands in horror at their ill-living, what "life" for these wretched creatures really means. Picture the squalid misery of their brutish existence, dragged on from year to year in the narrow, noisome room where, huddled like vermin in sewers, they welter, and sicken, and sleep; where dirt-grimed children scream and fight and sluttish, shrill-voiced women cuff, and curse, and nag; where the street outside teems with roaring filth and the house around is a bedlam of riot and stench. Think what a sapless stick this fair flower of life must be to them, devoid of mind and soul. The horse in his stall scents the sweet hay and munches the ripe corn contentedly. The watch-dog in his kennel blinks at the grateful sun, dreams of a glorious chase over the dewy fields, and wakes with a yelp of gladness to greet a caressing hand. But the clod-like life of these human logs never knows one ray of light. From the hour when they crawl from their comfortless bed to the hour when they lounge back into it again they never live one moment of real life. Recreation, amusement, companionship, they know not the meaning of. Joy, sorrow, laughter, tears, love, friendship, longing, despair, are idle words to them. From the day when their baby eyes first look out upon their sordid world to the day when, with an oath, they close them forever and their bones are shoveled out of sight, they never warm to one touch of human sympathy, never thrill to a single thought, never start to a single hope. In the name of the God of mercy; let them pour the maddening liquor down their throats and feel for one brief moment that they live!”

Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow (1886)

John Muir photo

“The rugged old Norsemen spoke of death as Heimgang — home-going. So the snow-flowers go home when they melt and flow to the sea, and the rock-ferns, after unrolling their fronds to the light and beautifying the rocks, roll them up close again in the autumn and blend with the soil. Myriads of rejoicing living creatures, daily, hourly, perhaps every moment sink into death’s arms, dust to dust, spirit to spirit — waited on, watched over, noticed only by their Maker, each arriving at its own heaven-dealt destiny. All the merry dwellers of the trees and streams, and the myriad swarms of the air, called into life by the sunbeam of a summer morning, go home through death, wings folded perhaps in the last red rays of sunset of the day they were first tried. Trees towering in the sky, braving storms of centuries, flowers turning faces to the light for a single day or hour, having enjoyed their share of life’s feast — all alike pass on and away under the law of death and love. Yet all are our brothers and they enjoy life as we do, share heaven’s blessings with us, die and are buried in hallowed ground, come with us out of eternity and return into eternity. 'Our little lives are rounded with a sleep.”

John Muir (1838–1914) Scottish-born American naturalist and author

pages 439-440
("Trees towering … into eternity" are the next-to-last lines of the documentary film " John Muir in the New World http://www.pbs.org/wnet/americanmasters/episodes/john-muir-in-the-new-world/watch-the-full-documentary-film/1823/" (American Masters), produced, directed, and written by Catherine Tatge.)
John of the Mountains, 1938

Georgia O'Keeffe photo
Arthur Schopenhauer photo
Karen Blixen photo
Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton photo
Clifford D. Simak photo
Samuel Taylor Coleridge photo

“If a man could pass through Paradise in a dream, and have a flower presented to him as a pledge that his soul had really been there, and if he found that flower in his hand when he awake — Aye! and what then?”

Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772–1834) English poet, literary critic and philosopher

"Anima Poetæ : From the Unpublished Note-books of Samuel Taylor Coleridge" (1895) edited by Ernest Hartley Coleridge, p. 238

Pierre-Auguste Renoir photo
Roberto Bolaño photo

“Literature is a vast forest and the masterpieces are the lakes, the towering trees or strange trees, the lovely eloquent flowers, the hidden caves, but a forest is also made up of ordinary trees, patches of grass, puddles, clinging vines, mushrooms and little wildflowers.”

Roberto Bolaño (1953–2003) Chilean author

La literatura es un vasto bosque y las obras maestras son los lagos, los árboles inmensos o extrañísimos, las elocuentes flores preciosas o las escondidas grutas, pero un bosque también está compuesto por árboles comunes y corrientes, por yerbazales, por charcos, por plantas parásitas, por hongos y por florecillas silvestres.
2666: A Novel (2008)

Erasmus Darwin photo
Gerald Massey photo

“There's no dearth of kindness
In this world of ours;
Only in our blindness
We gather thorns for flowers.”

Gerald Massey (1828–1907) British poet

There's no Dearth of Kindness, reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919).

Percy Bysshe Shelley photo
Robin Williams photo
Damien Hirst photo

“I was with this guy who was a plasterer, and at lunchtime he was eating a stuffed heart… I was thinking, "I'm not like these guys. I'm an artist." And I saw a bee come over to some flowers and get all the pollen out. I was looking and thinking, "How does it do that?" And then the guy who was eating the stuffed heart said, "How does that bee do that?"”

Damien Hirst (1965) artist

Beckett, Andy. "Arts: A Strange Case" http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_qn4158/is_19951112/ai_n14017521/pg_5?tag=artBody;col1, The Independent, 12 November 1995
Talking about when he worked as a builder after college

Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis photo
William Wordsworth photo
Walther von der Vogelweide photo

“Under the lime tree
On the heather,
Where we had shared a place of rest,
Still you may find there,
Lovely together,
Flowers crushed and grass down-pressed.”

Walther von der Vogelweide (1170–1230) Middle High German lyric poet

Under der linden
an der heide,
dâ unser zweier bette was,
dâ mugt ir vinden
schône beide
gebrochen bluomen unde gras.
"Under der linden", line 1; translation by Raymond Oliver. http://colecizj.easyvserver.com/pgvogund.htm

Mahmoud Ahmadinejad photo
Anne Morrow Lindbergh photo

“Who hath not saved some trifling thing
More prized than jewels rare,
A faded flower, a broken ring,
A tress of golden hair.”

Ellen Clementine Howarth (1827–1899) American writer

'Tis but a Little Faded Flower, reported in Hoyt's New Cyclopedia Of Practical Quotations (1922), p. 12.

Jozef Israëls photo

“The picture of the 'New Flower' ['Het Bloempje', 1880] is really one of those I did with much idea of having to express loveliness and youth both in human feeling and in the naturally plants of flowers, and If I may say don't you find, that I have succeed in this composition?”

Jozef Israëls (1824–1911) Dutch painter

Quote from his letter, 23 March 1906, to F.W. Gusaulus in Toledo, (TMA); as cited in Jozef Israëls, 1824 – 1911, ed. Dieuwertje Dekkers; Waanders, Zwolle 1999, p. 306
This remark Israëls wrote 26 years after finishing the watercolor; probably it was a gift to the American art-critic
Quotes of Jozef Israels, after 1900

Mata Amritanandamayi photo
Emily Brontë photo
Chuck Palahniuk photo
Arthur Symons photo
Eleanor Farjeon photo
Adelaide Anne Procter photo
Thomas Gray photo
Ayumi Hamasaki photo

“If time is a fading dream
Then it would be like a flower
Even if destined to fall
It would be all the more valuable in its transience.”

Ayumi Hamasaki (1978) Japanese recording artist, lyricist, model, and actress

Dolls
Lyrics, Rainbow

Herb Caen photo

“A city is where you can sign a petition, boo the chief justice, fish off a pier, gaze at a hippopotamus, buy a flower at the corner, or get a good hamburger or a bad girl at 4 a. m. A city is where sirens make white streaks of sound in the sky and foghorns speak in dark grays. San Francisco is such a city.”

Herb Caen (1916–1997) American newspaper columnist

Caen, Herb. "A city is like San Francisco, not a faceless 'burb" http://www.sfgate.com/entertainment/article/A-city-is-like-San-Francisco-not-a-faceless-burb-3168435.php S.F. Gate, 2010.
Attributed

T. E. Lawrence photo

“The common base of all the Semitic creeds, winners or losers, was the ever present idea of world-worthlessness. Their profound reaction from matter led them to preach bareness, renunciation, poverty; and the atmosphere of this invention stifled the minds of the desert pitilessly. A first knowledge of their sense of the purity of rarefaction was given me in early years, when we had ridden far out over the rolling plains of North Syria to a ruin of the Roman period which the Arabs believed was made by a prince of the border as a desert-palace for his queen. The clay of its building was said to have been kneaded for greater richness, not with water, but with the precious essential oils of flowers. My guides, sniffing the air like dogs, led me from crumbling room to room, saying, 'This is jessamine, this violet, this rose'. But at last Dahoum drew me: 'Come and smell the very sweetest scent of all', and we went into the main lodging, to the gaping window sockets of its eastern face, and there drank with open mouths of the effortless, empty, eddyless wind of the desert, throbbing past. That slow breath had been born somewhere beyond the distant Euphrates and had dragged its way across many days and nights of dead grass, to its first obstacle, the man-made walls of our broken palace. About them it seemed to fret and linger, murmuring in baby-speech. 'This,' they told me, 'is the best: it has no taste.”

My Arabs were turning their backs on perfumes and luxuries to choose the things in which mankind had had no share or part.
Source: Seven Pillars of Wisdom (1922), Ch. 3

Letitia Elizabeth Landon photo

“As steals the dew along the flower,
So stole thy smile on me;
I cannot tell the day, nor hour
I first loved thee!”

Letitia Elizabeth Landon (1802–1838) English poet and novelist

(1836-2) (Vol.47) Songs-IV.
The Monthly Magazine

Torquato Tasso photo

“Armida smiles to hear, but keeps her gaze
fixed on herself, love's labours to behold.
Her locks she braided and their wanton ways
in lovely order marshalled and controlled.
She wound the curls of her fine strands with sprays
of flowers, like enamel worked on gold,
and made the stranger rose join with her pale
breast's native lily, and composed her veil.”

Torquato Tasso (1544–1595) Italian poet

Ride Armida a quel dir: ma non che cesse
Dal vagheggiarsi, o da' suoi bei lavori.
Poichè intrecciò le chiome, e che ripresse
Con ordin vago i lor lascivi errori,
Torse in anella i crin minuti, e in esse,
Quasi smalto su l'or, consparse i fiori:
E nel bel sen le peregrine rose
Giunse ai nativi giglj, e 'l vel compose.
Canto XVI, stanza 23 (tr. Wickert)
Gerusalemme Liberata (1581)

Andrew Marvell photo

“Gather the flowers, but spare the buds.”

Andrew Marvell (1621–1678) English metaphysical poet and politician

The Picture of Little T.C. in a Prospect of Flowers.

George William Russell photo

“Its edges foamed with amethyst and rose,
Withers once more the old blue flower of day:
There where the ether like a diamond glows
Its petals fade away.”

George William Russell (1867–1935) Irish writer, editor, critic, poet, and artistic painter

The Nuts of Knowledge (1903)

John Polkinghorne photo

“Let me end this chapter by suggesting that religion has done something for science. The latter came to full flower in its modern form in seventeenth-century Europe. Have you ever wondered why that's so? After all the ancient Greeks were pretty clever and the Chinese achieved a sophisticated culture well before we Europeans did, yet they did not hit on science as we now understand it. Quite a lot of people have thought that the missing ingredient was provided by the Christian religion. Of course, it's impossible to prove that so - we can't rerun history without Christianity and see what happens - but there's a respectable case worth considering. It runs like this.
The way Christians think about creation (and the same is true for Jews and Muslims) has four significant consequences. The first is that we expect the world to be orderly because its Creator is rational and consistent, yet God is also free to create a universe whichever way God chooses. Therefore, we can't figure it out just by thinking what the order of nature ought to be; we'll have to take a look and see. In other words, observation and experiment are indispensable. That's the bit the Greeks missed. They thought you could do it all just by cogitating. Third, because the world is God's creation, it's worthy of study. That, perhaps, was a point that the Chinese missed as they concentrated their attention on the world of humanity at the expense of the world of nature. Fourth, because the creation is not itself divine, we can prod it and investigate it without impiety. Put all these features together, and you have the intellectual setting in which science can get going.
It's certainly a historical fact that most of the pioneers of modern science were religious men. They may have had their difficulties with the Church (like Galileo) or been of an orthodox cast of mind (like Newton), but religion was important for them. They used to like to say that God had written two books for our instruction, the book of scripture and the book of nature. I think we need to try to decipher both books if we're to understand what's really happening.”

John Polkinghorne (1930) physicist and priest

page 29-30.
Quarks, Chaos & Christianity (1995)

Stevie Smith photo

“The flower and fruit of love are mine
The ant, the fieldmouse and the mole”

Stevie Smith (1902–1971) poet, novelist, illustrator, performer

"The Boat"
Selected Poems (1962)

Sören Kierkegaard photo

“I see again what I thought I saw the first time, when I sent forth the little book that was compared to and in fact could best be compared to “a humble little flower under the cover of the great forest””

Sören Kierkegaard (1813–1855) Danish philosopher and theologian, founder of Existentialism

Preface Three Discourses at Friday Communion November 14, 1849 Hong translation 1997 P. 111 (From Without Authority)
1840s, Three Discourses at the Communion on Fridays (1849)

“I disagree with Les. We always found good cunt at the Lyceum. Friendly cunt, clean cunt, spare cunt, jeans and knicker stuffed full of nice juicy hairy cunt, handfuls of cunt, palmful grabbing the cunt by the stem, or the root – infantile memories of cunt – backrow slides – slithery oily cunt, the cunt that breathes – the cunt that’s neatly wrapped in cotton, in silk, in nylon, that announces, that speaks or thrusts, that winks that’s squeezed in a triangle of furtive cloth backed by an arse that’s creamy, springy billowy cushiony tight, knicker lined, knicker skinned, circumscribed by flowers and cotton, by views, clinging knicker, juice ridden knicker, hot knicker, wet knicker, swelling vulva knicker, witty cunt, teeth smiling the eyes biting cunt, cultured cunt, culture vulture cunt, finger biting cunt, cunt that pours, cunt that spreads itself over your soft lips, that attacks, cunt that imagines – cunt you dream about, cunt you create as a Melba, a meringue with smooth sides – remembered from school boys’ smelly first cunt, first foreign cunt, amazing cunt – cunt that’s cruel. Cunt that protects itself and makes you want it even more cunt – cunt that smells of the air, of the earth, of bakeries, of old apples, of figs, of sweat of hands of sour yeast of fresh fish cunt. So – are we going Les? We might pick up a bit of crumpet.”

East (1975), Scene 17

John Dryden photo

“She, though in full-blown flower of glorious beauty,
Grows cold even in the summer of her age.”

John Dryden (1631–1700) English poet and playwright of the XVIIth century

Act IV, scene i.
Œdipus (1679)

“Your lips have splashed my dull house with print of flowers
My hands are crooked where they spilled over your dear
curving”

Kenneth Patchen (1911–1972) American writer and poet

"As We Are So Wonderfully Done With Each Other"

John Muir photo
Fred Weatherly photo