Rose Quotes - Page 8

• Ah what avails the sceptred race, Ah what the form divine! What every virtue, every grace! Rose Aylmer, all were thine. Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes May weep, but never see, A night of memories and of sighs I consecrate to thee.

  Walter Savage Landor

  Memories, Eye, Night

  'Rose Aylmer' (1806)

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• Childhood is the world of miracle or of magic: it is as if creation rose luminously out of the night, all new and fresh and astonishing. Childhood is over the moment things are no longer astonishing. When the world gives you a feeling of "déjà vu," when you are used to existence, you become an adult.

  Eugene Ionesco

  Inspirational, Children, Night

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• What does a river like the Vistula carry away with it? Everything that goes to pieces: wood, glass, pencils, pacts ... chairs, bones, and sunsets too. What had long been forgotten rose to memory, floating on its back or stomach, with the help of the Vistula.

  Gunter Grass

  Memories, Sunset, Glasses

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• So, timely you came, and well you chose, You came when most needed, my winter rose. From the snow I pluck you, and fondly press Your leaves 'twixt the leaves of my leaflessness.

  Alfred Austin

  Winter, Snow, Pluck

  Alfred Austin, “My Winter Rose”

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• My virgin sense of sound was steeped In the music of young streams; And roses through the casement peeped, And scented all my dreams.

  Alfred Austin

  Dream, Sound, Young

  Alfred Austin (1885). “At the Gate of the Convent: And Other Poems”

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• A history of listening to Top 40 radio had left me with a ridiculous and clichéd notion of love. I had never entertained the feeling myself but knew that it meant never having to say you're sorry. It was a many-splendored thing. Love was a rose and a hammer. Both blind and all-seeing, it made the world go round.

  David Sedaris

  Love, Sorry, Feelings

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• I started to write [The Name of the Rose] in March of 1978, moved by a seminal idea. I wanted to poison a monk.

  Umberto Eco

  Writing, Names, Ideas

  Introduction to the French version of The Name of the Rose, 1985.

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• A rose gets its color and fragrance from the root, and man his virtue from his childhood.

  Austin O'Malley

  Men, Color, Roots

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• I hardly sustain myself beneath the weight of white men's blood that I have shed. The whites provoked the war; their injustices, their indignities to our families, the cruel, unheard of and wholly unprovoked massacre at Fort Lyon ... shook all the veins which bind and support me. I rose, tomahawk in hand, and I have done all the hurt to the whites that I could.

  Sitting Bull

  Hurt, War, Men

  "The Lance and the Shield" by Robert M. Utley, New York: Henry Holt and Co., (pp. 79-80), 1993.

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• I like roses, ones with sharp thorns. Pretty to look at but hurts to touch, that's like me.

  Kangin

  Hurt, Looks, Thorns

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• You know why Guns n' Roses aren't a good band? Because no black people listen to them.

  Anton Newcombe

  Gun, People, Black

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• Your hands hold roses always in a way that says They are not only yours; the beautiful changes In such kind ways, Wishing ever to sunder Things and things' selves for a second finding, to lose For a moment all that it touches back to wonder.

  Richard Wilbur

  Beautiful, Self, Hands

  Richard Wilbur (2012). “Poems of Richard Wilbur”, p.233, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• Hope is like a harebell, trembling from its birth,Love is like a rose, the joy of all the earth,Faith is like a lily, lifted high and white,Love is like a lovely rose, the world's delight.Harebells and sweet lilies show a thornless growth,But the rose with all its thorns excels them both.

  Christina Rossetti

  Sweet, Love Is, White

  Christina Rossetti (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of Christina Rossetti (Illustrated)”, p.303, Delphi Classics

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• Under the summer roses When the flagrant crimson Lurks in the dusk Of the wild red leaves, Love, with little hands, Comes and touches you With a thousand memories, And asks you Beautiful, unanswerable questions.

  Carl Sandburg

  Beautiful, Summer, Memories

  Carl Sandburg (2003). “The Complete Poems of Carl Sandburg”, p.50, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• The modest Rose puts forth a thorn,The humble sheep a threat'ning horn:While the Lily white shall in love delight,Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.

  William Blake

  Humble, Sheep, White

  William Blake (2013). “The Poetry of William Blake”, p.84, eBookIt.com

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• Ah me! what wonder-working, occult science Can from the ashes in our hearts once more The rose of youth restore? What craft of alchemy can bid defiance To time and change, and for a single hour Renew this phantom-flower?

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  Flower, Heart, Ashes

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (185?). “The Poetical Works of Henry W. Longfellow”, p.503

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• The tear, down childhood's cheek that flows, Is like the dewdrop on the rose; When next the summer breeze comes by And waves the bush, the flower is dry.

  Walter Scott

  Summer, Flower, Childhood

  Walter Scott, Sir Walter Scott (1841). “The Poetical Works of Sir Walter Scott, Bart”, p.319

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• All perfect things are saddening in effect. The autumn wood robed in its scarlet clothes, The matchless tinting on the royal rose Whose velvet leaf by no least flaw is flecked. Love's supreme moment, when the soul unchecked Soars high as heaven, and its best rapture knows, These hold a deeper pathos than our woes, Since they leave nothing better to expect.

  Ella Wheeler Wilcox

  Autumn, Clothes, Perfection

  Ella Wheeler Wilcox (2012). “Leafs On An Idle Breeze - My Inspirational Poems (Annotated Edition)”, p.658, Jazzybee Verlag

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• Desire's wind blasts the thorntree but after it becomes from a bramblebush to be a rose upon the rood of time.

  James Joyce

  Wind, Desire, Blast

  James Joyce (2013). “The Best of James Joyce”, p.718, Simon and Schuster

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• One of life's joys was to have friends who gave you reality checks...who would call you on your crap before it rose so high you drowned in it.

  David Brin

  Reality, Joy, Checks

  David Brin (2009). “Earth”, p.251, Spectra

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• When Nature gives a gorgeous rose, Or yields the simplest fern, She writes this motto on the leaves, "To whom it may concern!" And so it is the poet comes And revels in her bowers, And, though another hold the land, Is owner of the flowers.

  John Godfrey Saxe

  Flower, Writing, Yield

  John Godfrey Saxe (1872). “The Poems: Complete in One Volume”, p.4

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• Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe, and pale gessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose, and the well attir'd woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears: Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffadillies fill their cups with tears, To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.

  John Milton

  Lying, Flower, Glowing

  'Lycidas' (1638) l. 142

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• Darkness now rose, as daylight sunk, and brought in low'ring Night her shadowy offspring.

  John Milton

  Night, Darkness, Daylight

  John Milton, Thomas Newton (1809). “The poetical works of John Milton: from the text of Doctor Newton with the life of the author”, p.325

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• Oh love, rose made wet by mermaids and foams, fire that dances and climbs up the invisible stairs and awakens the blood in the tunnel of sleeplessness.

  Pablo Neruda

  Love, Fire, Tunnels

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• I like not lady-slippers, Nor yet the sweet-pea blossoms, Nor yet the flaky roses, Red or white as snow; I like the chaliced lilies, The heavy Eastern lilies, The gorgeous tiger-lilies, That in our garden grow.

  Thomas Bailey Aldrich

  Sweet, Garden, White

  Thomas Bailey ALDRICH (1859). “The Ballad of Babie Bell, and Other Poems”, p.28

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