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 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. 
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.
Little things seem nothing, but they give peace, like those meadow flowers which individually seem odorless but all together perfume read more
Little things seem nothing, but they give peace, like those meadow flowers which individually seem odorless but all together perfume the air.
 Flowers are Love's truest language; they betray,
 Like the divining rods of Magi old,
  Where precious wealth read more 
 Flowers are Love's truest language; they betray,
 Like the divining rods of Magi old,
  Where precious wealth lies buried, not of gold,
   But love--strong love, that never can decay! 
Beauty, unaccompanied by virtue, is as a flower without perfume.
Beauty, unaccompanied by virtue, is as a flower without perfume.
 I have loved flowers that fade,
 Within those magic tents
  Rich hues have marriage made
  read more 
 I have loved flowers that fade,
 Within those magic tents
  Rich hues have marriage made
   With sweet unmemoried scents. 
Art is the unceasing effort to compete with the beauty of flowers - and never succeeding.
Art is the unceasing effort to compete with the beauty of flowers - and never succeeding.
Big doesn't necessarily mean better. Sunflowers aren't better than violets.
Big doesn't necessarily mean better. Sunflowers aren't better than violets.
 Ah, ah, Cytherea! Adonis is dead.
 She wept tear after tear, with the blood which was shed,--
  read more 
 Ah, ah, Cytherea! Adonis is dead.
 She wept tear after tear, with the blood which was shed,--
  And both turned into flowers for the earth's garden-close;
   Her tears, to the wind-flower,--his blood, to the rose.