#lowers

There's no dearth of kindness In the world of ours; Only in our blindness We gather thorns for flowers. ↗

— Gerald Massey

#dearth #flowers #gather #kindness #only

If religion were true, its followers would not try to bludgeon their young into an artificial conformity; but would merely insist on their unbending quest for truth, irrespective of artificial backgrounds or practical consequences. ↗

— H. P. Lovecraft

#backgrounds #bludgeon #conformity #consequences #followers

My studies are going well. The university library is my second home now. They've had to get me a private room because it takes me only a second to absorb the printed page, and curious students invariably gather around me as I flip through my books. ↗

— Daniel Keyes

#flowers-for-algernon #home

I sometimes think that never blows so red The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled; That every Hyacinth the Garden wears Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head. ↗

— Omar Khayyám

#caesar #flowers #hyacinth #mortality #rose

Don't let the tall weeds cast a shadow on the beautiful flowers in your garden. ↗

— Steve Maraboli

#friends #garden #inspirational #motivational #weeds

The calla lilies are in bloom again. Such a strange flower—suitable to any occasion. I carried them on my wedding day, and now I place them here in memory of something that has died. ↗

— Katharine Hepburn

#flowers #life #death

This is the spot where I will lie When life has had enough of me, These are the grasses that will blow Above me like a living sea. These gay old lilies will not shrink To draw their life from death of mine, And I will give my body's fire To make blue flowers on this vine. "O Soul," I said, "have you no tears? Was not the body dear to you?" I heard my soul say carelessly, "The myrtle flowers will grow more blue. ↗

— Sara Teasdale

#in-a-burying-ground #life #soul #death

There Albine lay, panting, exhausted by love, her hands clutched closer and closer to her heart, breathing her last. She parted her lips, seeking the kiss which should obliterate her, and then the hyacinths and tuberoses exhaled their incense, wrapping her in a final sigh, so profound that it drowned the chorus of roses, and in this culminating gasp of blossom, Albine was dead. ↗

— Émile Zola

#flowers #love #death

Hélène, her eyes once more raised and remote, was deep in a dream. She was Lady Rowena, she was in love, with the deep peaceful passion of a noble soul. This spring morning, the loveliness of the great city, the first wallflowers scenting her lap, had little by little melted her heart. ↗

— Émile Zola

#love #paris #wallflowers #dreams

Flowers don't tell, they show. That's the way good books should be too."--Stephanie Skeem. Author of Flotsam ↗

— Stephanie Skeem

#faith #flowers #hope #inspirational #love