#flo

How right it is to love flowers and the greenery of pines and ivy and hawthorn hedges; they have been with us from the very beginning. ↗

— Vincent Van Gogh

#van-gogh #love

The test of man then is not, 'How have I believed?' but 'How have I loved?'. The final test of religion is not religiousness, but love: not what I have done, not what I have believed, not what I have achieved, but how I have discharged the common charities of life. Sins of commission in that awful indictment are not even referred to. By what we have not done, by sins of omission, we are judged. It could not be otherwise. For the withholding of love is the negation of the Spirit of Christ, the proof that we never knew Him, that for us He lived in vain. Pastor Henry Drummond, 1890 ↗

— Paulo Coelho

#life

Vase [Why weep Come back tomorrow There are also poisonous flowers and flowers always open in the evening she loves the cinema she has been in Russia Love married with disdain Pearl-studded watch a trip to Montrouge Maisons- Lafitte and everything finishes in perfumes remember Let the flower bloom and let the fruit rot and let the grain sprout while the storms rage] ↗

— Guillaume Apollinaire

#love

I can see the green light I can see it in your eyes ↗

— Florence Welch

#over-the-love #love

The water can't turn back and choose another bed, just as promises now cannot be kept. No drowned man comes up again asking for a towel, no love is found again, no tobacconist fails to be born in the first place, no bullet shoots out of a neck and back into the gun, the dam will hold or will not hold. ↗

— Saša Stanišić

#time #love

Flowers, after love, must have been the best advert planet Earth had going for it. ↗

— Matt Haig

#flowers #love #love

Put my head under my pillow, and let the quiet put things where they are supposed to be. ↗

— Stephen Chbosky

#cry #love #sleep #the-perks-of-being-a-wallflower #love

And now - Plato's words mock me in the shadows on the ledge behind the flames: '...the men of the cave would say of him that up he went and down he came without his eyes. ↗

— Daniel Keyes

#plato #men

In the midst of the heavy, hot fragrance of summer, and of the clean salty smell of the sea, there was the odor of wounded men, a sickly odor of blood and antiseptics which marked the zone of every military hospital. All Athens quickly took on that odor, as the wounded Greek soldiers were moved out of hospitals and piled into empty warehouses to make way for German wounded. Now every church, every empty lot, every school building in Athens is full of wounded, and on the pathways of Zappion, the park in the heart of Athens, bandaged men in makeshift wheel chairs are to be seen wherever one walks. Zappion is a profusion of flowers, heavy-scented luxurious flowers; but even the flower fragrance is not as strong as that of blood. ↗

— Betty Wason

#blood #flowers #fragrance #military-occupation #odor

Jeb'd said it was harder for a pretty girl to find work; even white men liked flowers, whether red or pink or blue. ↗

— Shannon Celebi

#abolitionist #flowers #pretty-girl #pretty-girls #race-relations