I’ve had so many knives stuck into me, when they hand me a flower I can’t quite make out what it is. It takes time.
There’s nothing to mourn about death any more than there is to mourn about the growing of a flower. What is terrible is not death but the lives people live or don’t live up until their death.
Wildflowers don’t care where they grow.
I paint flowers so they will not die.
Because the world is so full of death and horror, I try again and again to console my heart and pick the flowers that grow in the midst of hell.
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its fragrance on the desert air.
If your heart is a volcano, how shall you expect flowers to bloom?
Oh heart, if one should say to you that the soul perishes like the body, answer that the flower withers, but the seed remains.
My God, my aim and my fulfillment; I am thy yesterday and thou art my tomorrow. I am thy root in the earth and thou art my flower in the sky, and together we grow before the face of the sun.
To make a perfume, take some rose water and wash your hands in it, then take a lavender flower and rub it with your palms, and you will achieve the desired effect.
Love is a flower that grows in any soil, works its sweet miracles undaunted by autumn frost or winter snow, blooming fair and fragrant all the year, and blessing those who give and those who receive.
When you understand spiritual law, then you realize that everything you give, good or bad, will in fact come back to you tenfold and that’s just the way it is. You give someone flowers and the person you are ultimately giving to is yourself.
I notice that you use plain, simple language, short words and brief sentences. That is the way to write English – it is the modern way and the best way. Stick to it; don’t let fluff and flowers and verbosity creep in.
Next time a sunrise steals your breath or a meadow of flowers leaves you speechless, remain that way. Say nothing, and listen as Heaven whispers, “Do you like it? I did it just for you.”