'Tis the last rose of summer, left blooming alone; all her lovely companions are faded and gone.
A morning glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.
Deep in their roots all flowers keep the light.
Earth laughs in flowers.
Every flower is a soul blossoming in Nature.
Fair flowers are not left standing along the wayside long.
Flowers always make people better, happier and more helpful; they are sunshine, food and medicine to the soul.
Flowers are a proud assertion that a ray of beauty out-values all the utilities of the world.
Flowers are as common in the country as people are in London.
Flowers are happy things.
Flowers are restful to look at. They have neither emotions nor conflicts.
Flowers have spoken to me more than I can tell in written words. They are the hieroglyphics of angels, loved by all men for the beauty of the character, though few can decipher even fragments of their meaning.
Flowers that are so pathetic in their beauty, frail as the clouds, and in their coloring as gorgeous as the heavens, had through thousands of years been the heritage of children — honored as the jewelry of God only by them — when suddenly the voice of Christianity, counter-signing the voice of infancy, raised them to a grandeur transcending the Hebrew throne, although founded by God himself, and pronounced Solomon in all his glory not to be arrayed like one of these.
He does not care for flowers. Calls them rubbish, and cannot tell one from another, and thinks it is superior to feel like that.
I hate flowers — I paint them because they're cheaper than models and they don't move.
Keep not your roses for my dead, cold brow the way is lonely, let me feel them now.
One of the most attractive things about the flowers is their beautiful reserve.
Roses fall, but the thorns remain.
The Amen of nature is always a flower.
The fairest thing in nature, a flower, still has its roots in earth and manure.