The flowers like me back.
John H. CarrollStichwörter: humor fantasy flowers
Creating is living doubly. The groping, anxious quest of a Proust, his meticulous collecting of flowers, of wallpapers, and of anxieties, signifies nothing else.
Albert CamusStichwörter: art flowers wallpaper creating anxiety marcel-proust
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 HepburnStichwörter: life death flowers
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 CapoteStichwörter: house flowers grief satisfaction funeral phonies
Butterflies are not insects,' Captain John Sterling said soberly. 'They are self-propelled flowers.
Robert A. HeinleinStichwörter: flowers butterflies
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Don't let the tall weeds cast a shadow on the beautiful flowers in your garden.
Steve MaraboliStichwörter: motivational inspirational friends flowers garden weeds
What branch does not have its leaves and which twig will not have its flowers?
Sorin CerinStichwörter: life love death flowers
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.
Stichwörter: flowers mortality caesar blood transience rose hyacinth
When the young woman
leans over the sky,
about to water the flowers as well as the weeds,
her white front splits open
until her milk runs.
Stichwörter: woman milk water flowers sky weeds
For millions of years flowers have been producing thorns. For millions of years sheep have been eating them all the same. And it's not serious, trying to understand why flowers go to such trouble to produce thorns that are good for nothing? It's not important, the war between the sheep and the flowers? It's no more serious and more important than the numbers that fat red gentleman is adding up? Suppose I happen to know a unique flower, one that exists nowhere in the world except on my planet, one that a little sheep can wipe out in a single bite one morning, just like that, without even realizing what he'd doing - that isn't important? If someone loves a flower of which just one example exists among all the millions and millions of stars, that's enough to make him happy when he looks at the stars. He tells himself 'My flower's up there somewhere...' But if the sheep eats the flower, then for him it's as if, suddenly, all the stars went out. And that isn't important?
Antoine de Saint-ExupéryStichwörter: love war stars roses flowers importance uniqueness longing protection sheep thorns
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