One of the most tragic things I know about human nature is that all of us tend to put off living. We are all dreaming of some magical rose garden over the horizon instead of enjoying the roses that are blooming outside our windows today.
We can complain because rose bushes have thorns, or rejoice because thorn bushes have roses.
Live now, believe me, wait not till tomorrow; Gather the roses of life today.
A single rose can be my garden... a single friend, my world.
Every rose that is sweet-scented within, That rose is telling of the secrets of the Universal.
Of all the flowers, me thinks a rose is best.
Life is full of paradoxes, as roses are of thorns.
Take time to smell the roses. Appreciating the little things in life really can make all the difference.
Best and dearest flower that grows, / Perfect both to see and smell; / Words can never, never tell / Half the beauty of a Rose - .
Life is a garden. It is an opportunity. You can grow weeds, you can grow roses; it all depends on you.
A rose by any other name may smell as sweet, but a woman called by a devaluing name will only be weakened by the misnomer.
The rose does not have a why; it blossums without reason, forgetful of self and oblivious to our vision.
Good thoughts are blessed guests, and should be heartily welcomed, well fed, and much sought after. Like rose leaves, they give out a sweet smell if laid up in the jar of memory.
There is nothing more difficult for a truly creative painter than to paint a rose, because before he can do so he has first to forget all the roses that were ever painted.
Fewer things are lovelier to me than a full-blown rose when it opens up its heart.
The butterfly long loved the beautiful rose, And flirted around all day; While round him in turn with her golden caress, Soft fluttered the sun's warm ray.... I know not with whom the rose was in love, But I know that I loved them all. The butterfly, rose, and the sun's bright ray, The star and the bird's sweet call.
Oh, that's the beauty of the rose, that it blossoms and dies.
And the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart
I am thankful that thorns have roses.
Love planted a rose, and the world turned sweet.
The fragrance always stays in the hand that gives the rose.
In the garden of thy heart, plant naught but the rose of love.
Won't you come into the garden? I would like my roses to see you.
Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose.
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses
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