#flower

Royal summoned mourners. They came from the village, from the neighboring hills and, wailing like dogs at midnight, laid siege to the house. Old women beat their heads against the walls, moaning men prostrated themselves: it was the art of sorrow, and those who best mimicked grief were much admired. After the funeral everyone went away, satisfied that they'd done a good job. ↗

— Truman Capote

#funeral #grief #house #phonies #satisfaction

The good news is that I read the book, and because of its fantasy nature, I could not pretend that I was in the book. That way I could participate and still read. ↗

— Stephen Chbosky

#reading #wallflower #nature

Don't wait until people are dead to give them flowers. ↗

— Sean Covey

#flowers #motivational #death

I hear he liked flowers pretty well." "Yes," said Annie, "he said they were the friends who always came back and never disappointed him." --"Out, Brief Candle ↗

— Kurt Vonnegut

#disappointment #flowers #friends #nature #nature

There's nothing quite like the pleasure you get from plants and flower," he said to himself. "They certainly do cheer you up. ↗

— Charmian Hussey

#flowers #nature #plants #pleasure #nature

She wasn't bitter. She was sad, though. But it was a hopeful kind of sad. The kind of sad that just takes time. ↗

— Stephen Chbosky

#time

Don't be ashamed to weep; 'tis right to grieve. Tears are only water, and flowers, trees, and fruit cannot grow without water. But there must be sunlight also. A wounded heart will heal in time, and when it does, the memory and love of our lost ones is sealed inside to comfort us. ↗

— Brian Jacques

#emotion #emotions #flowers #fruit #growing

Maybe it’s sad that these are now memories. And maybe it’s not sad. ↗

— Stephen Chbosky

#sad

He's a wallflower. You see things. You keep quiet about them. And you understand. ↗

— Stephen Chbosky

#being

All around me darkness gathers, Fading is the sun that shone, We must speak of other matters, You can be me when I'm gone Flowers gathered in the morning, Afternoon they blossom on, Still are withered in the evening, You can be me when I'm gone. ↗

— Neil Gaiman

#flowers