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Flowers always make people better, happier and more helpful; they are sunshine, food and medicine to the soul.
Flowers always make people better, happier and more helpful; they are sunshine, food and medicine to the soul.
Flowers are restful to look at. They have neither emotions nor conflicts.
Flowers are restful to look at. They have neither emotions nor conflicts.
If we plant a flower or a shrub and water it daily it will grow so tall that in time read more
If we plant a flower or a shrub and water it daily it will grow so tall that in time we shall need a spade and a hoe to uproot it. It is just so, I think, when we commit a fault, however small, each day, and do not cure ourselves of it.
Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue?
And where is the violet's beautiful blue?
Does aught read more
Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue?
And where is the violet's beautiful blue?
Does aught of its sweetness the blossom beguile?
That meadow, those daisies, why do they not smile?
I hate flowers -- I paint them because they're cheaper than models and they don't move.
I hate flowers -- I paint them because they're cheaper than models and they don't move.
Big doesn't necessarily mean better. Sunflowers aren't better than violets.
Big doesn't necessarily mean better. Sunflowers aren't better than violets.
Beauty, unaccompanied by virtue, is as a flower without perfume.
Beauty, unaccompanied by virtue, is as a flower without perfume.
The windflower and the violet, they perished long ago,
And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer read more
The windflower and the violet, they perished long ago,
And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow;
But on the hills the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood,
And the yellow sunflower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood,
Till fell the first from the clear cold heaven, as falls the
plague on men,
And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland glade and
glen.
I know not which I love the most,
Nor which the comeliest shows,
The timid, bashful violet
read more
I know not which I love the most,
Nor which the comeliest shows,
The timid, bashful violet
Or the royal-hearted rose:
The pansy in purple dress,
The pink with cheek of red,
Or the faint, fair heliotrope, who hangs,
Like a bashful maid her head.