Daffodil Quotes - Page 3

• For oft, when on my couch I lie in vacant or in pensive mood they flash upon that inward eye which is the bliss of solitude

  William Wordsworth

  Lying, Eye, Solitude

  "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud" l. 19 (1815 ed.)

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• To this day I cannot see a bright daffodil, a proud gladiola, or a smooth eggplant without thinking of Papa. Like his plants and trees, I grew up as a part of his garden.

  Leo Buscaglia

  Garden, Thinking, Eggplant

  Leo F. Buscaglia (1992). “Papa, my father: a celebration of dads”, Ballantine Books

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• My heart is a garden tired with autumn,
  Heaped with bending asters and dahlias heavy and dark,
  In the hazy sunshine, the garden remembers April,
  The drench of rains and a snow-drop quick and clear as a spark;
  Daffodils blowing in the cold wind of morning,
  And golden tulips, goblets holding the rain -
  The garden will be hushed with snow, forgotten soon, forgotten -
  After the stillness, will spring come again?

  Sara Teasdale

  Morning, Spring, Rain

  Sara Teasdale, “The Garden”

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• You've developed the strength of a draft horse while holding onto the delicacy of a daffodil ... you are the mother, advocate and protector of a child with a disability.

  Lori Borgman

  Mother, Horse, Children

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• The key of D is daffodil yellow, B major is maroon, and B flat is blue.

  Marian McPartland

  Keys, Blue, Yellow

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• I think of the poetry of René Char and all he must have seen and suffered that has brought him to speak only of sedgy rivers, of daffodils and tulips whose roots they water, even to the free-flowing river that laves the rootlets of those sweet-scented flowers that people the milky way

  William Carlos Williams

  Sweet, Flower, Thinking

  William Carlos Williams (1991). “The Collected Poems of Williams Carlos Williams: 1939-1962”, p.256, New Directions Publishing

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• When daffodils begin to peer,
  With heigh! the doxy, over the dale,
  Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year;
  For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.
  The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,
  With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!
  Doth set my pugging tooth on edge;
  For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.

  William Shakespeare

  Sweet, Kings, Spring

  'The Winter's Tale' (1610-1) act 4, sc. 2, l. 1

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• Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretch'd in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

  William Wordsworth

  Stars, Flower, Space

  1804 'I wandered lonely as a cloud', stanza 2 (published 1807).

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• Do you know, we're right underneath Springtime Parish? This place is the opposite of springtime. Everything past prime, boarded up for the season. Just above us, the light shines golden on daffodils full of rainwine and heartgrass and a terrible, wicked, sad girl I can't get back to. I don't even know if I want to. Do I want to be her again? Or do I want to be free? I come here to think about that. To be near her and consider it. I think I shall never be free. I think I traded my freedom for a better story. It was a better story, even if the ending needed work.

  Catherynne M. Valente

  Girl, Thinking, Past

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• Maddie took the top of her egg off. The hot bright yolk was like summer sun breaking through cloud. The first daffodil in the snow. A gold sovereign wrapped in a white silk handkerchief. She dipped her spoon in it and licked it.

  Elizabeth Wein

  Summer, Clouds, Eggs

  Elizabeth Wein (2012). “Code Name Verity”, p.110, Egmont UK

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• Young playmates of the rose and daffodil, Be careful ere ye enter in, to fill Your baskets high With fennel green, and balm, and golden pines Savory latter-mint, and columbines.

  John Keats

  Rose, Green, Golden

  Harry Buxton Forman, John Keats (1817). “The complete works of John Keats”, p.192

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• April Rain It is not raining rain to me, It's raining daffodils; In every dimpled drop I see Wild flowers on the hills. The clouds of gray engulf the day And overwhelm the town; It is not raining rain to me, It's raining roses down. It is not raining rain to me, But fields of clover bloom, Where any buccaneering bee May find a bed and room. A health unto the happy! A fig for him who frets!- It is not raining rain to me, It's raining violets.

  Robert Loveman

  Rain, Flower, Clouds

  Robert Loveman, “April Rain”

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• It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries; I never hear the west wind but tears are in my eyes. For it comes from the west lands, the old brown hills, And April's in the West wind, and daffodils.

  John Masefield

  Eye, Wind, Land

  John Masefield (1922). “The Poems and Plays of John Masefield: Poems”

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• I suppose he could have changed," Neal said dryly. "I myself have noticed my growing resemblance to a daffodil." The other pages snorted. Kel eyed her friend. "You do look yellow around the edges," she told him, her face quite serious. "I hadn’t wanted to bring it up." "We daffodils like to have things brought up," Neal said, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "It reminds us of spring.

  Tamora Pierce

  Spring, Yellow, Looks

  Tamora Pierce (2014). “Protector of the Small Quartet”, p.315, Random House Books for Young Readers

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• Poets have tried to describe Ankh-Morpork. They have failed. Perhaps it's the sheer zestful vitality of the place, or maybe it's just that a city with a million inhabitants and no sewers is rather robust for poets, who prefer daffodils and no wonder. So let's just say that Ankh-Morpork is as full of life as an old cheese on a hot day, as loud as a curse in a cathedral, as bright as an oil slick, as colourful as a bruise and as full of activity, industry, bustle and sheer exuberant busyness as a dead dog on a termite mound.

  Terry Pratchett

  Dog, Cities, Oil

  "Mort". Book by ‎Terry Pratchett, 1987.

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• An exquisite invention this, Worthy of Love's most honeyed kiss,-- This art of writing billet-doux-- In buds, and odors, and bright hues! In saying all one feels and thinks In clever daffodils and pinks; In puns of tulips; and in phrases, Charming for their truth, of daisies.

  Leigh Hunt

  Art, Clever, Writing

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