Loveliest of lovely things are they On earth, that soonest pass away. The rose that lives its little hour Is read more

Loveliest of lovely things are they On earth, that soonest pass away. The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyond the sculptured flower.

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?

Who that has loved knows not the tender tale
Which flowers reveal, when lips are coy to tell?
read more

Who that has loved knows not the tender tale
Which flowers reveal, when lips are coy to tell?
- Edward George Earle Lytton Bulwer-Lytton, first Baron Lytton,

The happy bells shall ring Marguerite;
The summer birds shall sing Marguerite;
You smile but you shall read more

The happy bells shall ring Marguerite;
The summer birds shall sing Marguerite;
You smile but you shall wear
Orange blossoms in your hair, Marguerite.

Flowers are restful to look at. They have neither emotions nor conflicts.

Flowers are restful to look at. They have neither emotions nor conflicts.

Thick on the woodland floor
Gay company shall be,
Primrose and Hyacinth
And frail read more

Thick on the woodland floor
Gay company shall be,
Primrose and Hyacinth
And frail Anemone,
Perennial Strawberry-bloom,
Woodsorrel's pencilled veil,
Dishevel'd Willow-weed
And Orchis purple and pale.

Flowers have an expression of countenance as much as men and
animals. Some seem to smile; some have a read more

Flowers have an expression of countenance as much as men and
animals. Some seem to smile; some have a sad expression; some
are pensive and diffident; others again are plain, honest and
upright, like the broad-faced sunflower and the hollyhock.

I am following Nature without being able to grasp her . . . . I perhaps owe having become a read more

I am following Nature without being able to grasp her . . . . I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.

Mama was my greatest teacher, a teacher of compassion, love and fearlessness. If love is sweet as a flower, then read more

Mama was my greatest teacher, a teacher of compassion, love and fearlessness. If love is sweet as a flower, then my mother is that sweet flower of love.