Rose And Love Famous Quotes & Sayings
100 Rose And Love Famous Sayings, Quotes and Quotation.
Such an act— William Shakespeare
That blurs the grace and blush of modesty;
Calls virtue hypocrite; takes off the rose
From the fair forehead of an innocent love,
And sets a blister there; makes marriage vows
As false as dicers' oaths.
I hope all you wish for comes to you,— Margo T. Rose
And you become who you're hoping to be.
I know you will prosper in all you do,
So promise you'll remember me.
Now you're going to get it," I said, guessing Al was coming when the ones in the back scattered. "You should have been nice."— Kim Harrison
With a weird cry, the closest surface demon fell back, but it was too late. A flash of red light exploded overhead, smashing the buildings away as if I were at the center of an atomic explosion. The surface demons scattered like brown leaves, the remnants of their clothes and auras fluttering. It was Al, and he burst into existence in a grand mood, an old-fashioned lantern in his hand and a walking cane at his side.
"Rachel Mariana Morgan!" he shouted enthusiastically, raising the lantern high, and I painfully rose from my crouch, breaking my bubble with a small thought. "I've come to save you, love!
Madness weakens the mind and disease weakens the body, but nothing destroys the spirit like the loss of a true love.— Fiona Paul
Love and a red rose can't be hid.— Thomas Holcroft
[The] insistence on the absolutely indiscriminate nature of compassion within the Kingdom is the dominant perspective of almost all of Jesus' teaching.— Brennan Manning
What is indiscriminate compassion? 'Take a look at a rose. Is is possible for the rose to say, "I'll offer my fragrance to good people and withhold it from bad people"? Or can you imagine a lamp that withholds its rays from a wicked person who seeks to walk in its light? It could do that only be ceasing to be a lamp. And observe how helplessly and indiscriminately a tree gives its shade to everyone, good and bad, young and old, high and low; to animals and humans and every living creature
even to the one who seeks to cut it down. This is the first quality of compassion
its indiscriminate character.' (Anthony DeMello, The Way to Love) ...
What makes the Kingdom come is heartfelt compassion: a way of tenderness that knows no frontiers, no labels, no compartmentalizing, and no sectarian divisions.
![Rose And Love Sayings By Brennan Manning: [The] insistence on the absolutely indiscriminate nature of compassion within the Kingdom is the dominant](https://www.greatsayings.net/images/rose-and-love-sayings-by-brennan-manning-236897.jpg "Rose And Love Sayings By Brennan Manning: [The] insistence on the absolutely indiscriminate nature of compassion within the Kingdom is the dominant")
A mixture of feelings- love, distaste, revulsion, pity- rose in my throat ... There was an eternity to that moment, that see-sawing split- second when adoration clung and then lurched, spilling into chaos, rage, hate, anger: the desire to smash and embrace, love and destroy. Betrayal does that ... Shows you how worthless love is, when its object is indifferent, ruthless, no more than a machine for surviving.— Liz Jensen
Oh, that's the beauty of the rose, that it blossoms and dies.— Willa Cather
He hesitated for a moment. Then he said softly, 'I love you, Mother.' He took my hand and kissed it, and folded my fingers round the stem of the rose. He had stripped it of its thorns.— Elizabeth Peters
I was too moved to speak. But maternal affection was not the only emotion that prevented utterance; as I watched him walk away, his head high and his step firm, anger boiled within me. I knew I had to conquer it before I saw Nefret again, or I would take her by the shoulders and shake her, and demand that she love my son!
Brian's face broke out in a wide grin as he slapped Roarke on the back. "That's a woman, isn't it?"— J.D. Robb
"Delicate as a rose, my Eve. Fragile and quiet natured." He grinned himself when he heard her curse, loud and vicious. "A voice like a flute."
"And you're sloppy in love with her."
"Pitifully.
Cervantes, the soldier and adventurer, rose above the prejudices of his class, while Shakespeare never lifted his eyes beyond the narrow horizon of the Court to which he catered. It was love that opened Cervantes's eye, and it is in all-embracing love that Shakespeare was deficient.— William Shakespeare
You come in the day of destiny,— Thomas MacDonagh
Barbara, born to the air of Mars:
The greater glory you shall see
And the greater peace, beyond these wars.
In other days within this isle,
As in a temple, men knew peace;
And won the world to peace a while
Till rose the pride of Rome and Greece,
The pride of art, the pride of power,
The cruel empire of the mind:
Withered the light like a summer flower,
And hearts went cold and souls went blind;
And, groping, men took other gifts,
And thought them the best:
But the light lives in the soul that lifts
The quiet love above the rest.
She kissed him, her body molding to his, and in his mind her beautiful voice rose in song just for him. The notes skipped from his mind to the sky, silver and gold notes of joy and happiness, of courage and admiration. She sang of love between two people, sacred and beautiful. She sang of peace and happiness. Her hands moved over him possessively, lovingly, checking his body for wounds. Her warrior was home. Whatever— Christine Feehan
I liked Rafael. I liked listening to Rafael. I liked touching him. I liked it when he took me in his arms and made me feel like I belonged to him, like our hearts ran together as one, indistinct. Rafael was beautiful. Rafael was my heart's friend. I didn't understand how that meant I liked boys. As far as I knew, it only meant I liked Rafael.— Rose Christo
More than liked Rafael.
See what I mean? I think it's a generational thing." She turned to him, and a faint smile played at the corners of her mouth. "My mother's parents were in love. They met at a concert. My grandfather saw my grandmother across the sea of people and bam - love at first sight. He bought a rose from a vendor, walked right up to her, and asked her out. From that day forward, he brought her a rose every— Katie Graykowski
For years and years I struggled— Mary Oliver
just to love my life. And then
the butterfly
rose, weightless, in the wind.
"Don't love you life
too much," it said,
and vanished
into the world.
In boundless love as a Christian and as a man I read through the passage which tells us how the Lord at last rose in His might and seized the scourge to drive out of the Temple the brood of vipers and of adders.— Adolf Hitler
Dimity said, "I wrote him poetry!"— Gail Carriger
( ... ) "Dimity," Sophronia said, horrified by such an admission, "you didn't give him the poetry, did you?"
"Certainly not."
Sidheag tilted back in her chair, grinning. "Well, let's hear it."
"Oh, no. I don't think that's a good idea at all."
But Dimity was already dipping into her reticule and pulling out a scrap of paper. She gave it to Sidheag, who read it with a perfectly straight face, her tawny eyes dancing, and then passed it Sophronia.
"My love is like a red red rose
Occasionally he has a red red nose
He could keep me warm in the snows
I wager he has very nice toes."
Sophronia could think of nothing to say except, "Oh, Dimity.
Her spirit rose with the horns and she was seized suddenly with a fierce love of all this country. She felt her mind a great wing stretched out protectively over the land.— Donna Gillespie
You think I'm perfect, but I feel like a songbird trapped in a cage.— Christina L. Barr
Is it really for love he is going to marry you?" She asked.— Charlotte Bronte
I was so hurt by her coldness and scepticism that the tears rose to my eyes.
"I am sorry to grieve you," pursued the widow; "but you are so young, and so little acquainted with men, I wished to put you on your guard. It is an old saying that 'all is not gold that glitters;' and in this case I do fear there will be something found to be different to what either you or I expect.
What restless woman can resist a man with a shovel in one hand and a glowing rose bush in the other, and a moderately crazed glitter in his eyes that might be mistaken for love?— Margaret Atwood
I don't know. I love the idea of democracy, the hope, yes, I love that. I couldn't live without that. But the country? You mean the thing on the map, lines, everything inside the lines is good and nothing outside them matters? How can an adult love such a childish idea?— Ursula K. Le Guin
Somewhere in the arrangement of this world there seems to be a great concern about giving us delight, which shows that, in the universe, over and above the meaning of matter and forces, there is a message conveyed through the magic touch of personality ... Is it merely because the rose is round and pink that it gives me more satisfaction than the gold which could buy me the necessities of life, or any number of slaves ... Somehow we feel that through a rose the language of love reached our hearts.— Rabindranath Tagore
Nobody gave you to me. Nobody said that's the one for you. I picked you out. Wrong time, yep, and doing wrong by my wife. But the picking out, the choosing. Don't ever think I fell for you, or fell over you. I didn't fall in love, I rose in it. I saw you and made up my mind. My mind. And I made up my mind to follow you too. Joe Trace— Toni Morrison
What I love about my work is the variety and not knowing what's coming next, and being able to embrace something for a period of time and know something new is going to follow.— Rose McIver
I-" Irsa took a careful breath to steady her words. " I have felt alone for most of my life. Until you." She placed the shell on his chest. " But I promise I won't feel alone anymore. I will never forget." She stood on shaky feet. "I will always remember."— Renee Ahdieh
"I love you Rahim al-Din Walad . Thank you for loving me in return.
And somewhere in that crimson-colored never-never land where i pirouetted madly, in a wild and crazy effort to exhaust myself into insensibility, i saw that man, shadowy and distant, half-hidden behind towering white columns that rose clear up to a purple sky. In a passionate pas de deux he danced with me, forever apart, no matter how hard i sought to draw nearer and leap into his arms, where i could feel them protective about me, supporting me ... and with him i'd find, at last, a safe place to live and love.— V.C. Andrews
Time to hunt? Cattie-brie cried, satisfied that she had gotten her point across. She rose beside Wulfgar and headed for the door, but she turned her head over her shoulder to face Drizzt one final time, giving him a look that told him that perhaps he should have asked for more from Cattie-brie back in Icewind Dale, before Wulfgar had entered her life.— R.A. Salvatore
We're living in world, stars and dust Between heaven 'n all that surrounds us We're travellers here, spirits passing through And the love we give, is all that will endure Just like a rose after the rain Something beautiful remains Tears will leave no stains Time will ease the pain For every life that fades Something beautiful remains— Tina Turner
He finds his way up the side of my neck, biting me just a little, moving lightly back and forth, like he's searching for a special spot. When he finds it, I make small sound I've never heard myself make before, like a gasp. He traces his tongue in slow circles around that spot. I realise my hands are just lying in my lap, doing nothing. I concentrate on lifting my arm and reaching for his face, but he catches my hand and holds it tightly at the wrist. His lips leave the spot and find their way back to my mouth, which is waiting, hoping for his return. He plants a gentle kiss on my lower lip and then whispers in my ear, I just got lucky, Rose.— Louise Rozett
I did great things in the theater. I did some nice roles, 'The Diving Bell and the Butterfly' or 'La Vie en Rose.' And I love my role in 'Frantic.'— Emmanuelle Seigner
Although I wasn't there to bear witness, I imagine Lot's wife scanned the masses for her children. Perhaps she sought out the curves of their mouths and the shapes of their faces, trying to memorize her children, grown now. She looked back as I and any strong, loving mother would have done.— Brenda Sutton Rose
Heat rose to her cheeks. The man made love to her one time, and already she couldn't wait to touch him again. He should be labeled a controlled substance to keep potential addicts like her safe from his influence.— Christine Warren
Slothrop hears a girl singing. Accompanying herself on a balalaika. One of those sad little Parisian-sounding tunes in 3/4: Love never goes away, Never completely dies, Always some souvenir Takes us by sad surprise. You went away from me, One rose was left behind - Pressed in my Book of Hours, That is the rose I find. . . . Though it's another year, Though it's another me, Under the rose is a drying tear, Under my linden tree. . . . Love never goes away, Not if it's really true, It can return, by night, by day, Tender and green and new As the leaves from a linden tree, love, that I left with you.— Thomas Pynchon
I thought with all this freedom and self-discovery and expression of our love stuff that we could finally stop with the whole Zen master wisdom and practical advice crap.— Richelle Mead
I was surprised to feel the tears running down my cheeks. Was this part of the reason fate had brought Arabella and I together all those years ago? Or was fate finally providing a way for our love to live on?— Rose Wynters
Now Rose will have to go to the ends of the earth to find-and kill-the man she loves.— Richelle Mead
I would love to have a long and serious conversation with the Pope. And Woody Allen, whom I have never interviewed. Then, after those two? Steve Jobs.— Charlie Rose
I usually can't stop babbling, just to fill space, but with Julienne, I can see the appeal of just being. Julienne is quiet, obviously, but that's because she can say what she means to in so few words. She has a commanding presence that's hard to ignore. Julienne doesn't seem to feel the same urgency other people do. Everyone else, myself included, is constantly vying for a space to occupy, just for the sake of it. But when Julienne does share, it's incredible. She has an actual opinion on everything, not just something to say, and I want to hear about all of them.— Pega Rose
Love would never b a promise of a rose garden unless it is showered with a light of faith, water of sincerity, and an art of passion.— Jack Canfield
I love the fans, I love the game of baseball, and I love Cincinnati baseball.— Pete Rose
Moaning, she melted into my arms and molded her body against mine as if giving me permission to take whatever I yearned for.— Kenya Wright
And I will. I can't think of anything else.
The ocean waves crashed against us. That cool water rose up to our knees. All was forgotten in those sweet kisses - lips gliding against lips, wet tongues twisting and exploring, hungry hands and taunting fingers. Fireworks of lust and need exploded inside me.
He's MINE", I howled. "Mine! And I'm his! You knew this when you slunk into our bed. I told you at the beginning, and I thought you understood, well, you understand now, don't you?"— Amy Lane
He had the nerve to extend a placating hand to me, and I wished so violently for a weapon, I were not surprised to hear the clatter of a knife falling out of the cupboard.
I turned my head to the side and spat instead. "I told you 'no', dammit. I told you I'd follow him to the ends of the fucking earth, and I will, and you thought that if you took him, you'd take the way I felt. Well, you can't! Hammer and me - we're twined together, like rose bushes or wrought iron, and you can't untangle us, and if you did, you'd have to break us! Don't you see what you've done? You tried to break Hammer! He's mine! My whole life, the only thing I ever wanted were him, and you tried to break him! And why? So you could have me? You don't care for me!
It was evening. The sun was below the horizon; but his rosy beams yet illuminated a feathery cloud, that floated high above the world. I arose, I reached the cloud; and, throwing myself upon it, floated with it in sight of the sinking sun. He sank, and the cloud grew gray; but the grayness touched not my heart. It carried its rose-hue within; for now I could love without needing to be loved again.— George MacDonald
We've got a war about to be unleashed here-one that I'm going to die for. One where you and I are an impossibility. So I don't get to tell you that I love you. And you don't get to look at me like that. - Daniel— Frankie Rose
Significance is discovered in the heart. It is here that it is cultivated and nurtured as it imparts meaning to everything you put your hand to. It spills forth from a life rooted in the source of significance itself - divine love. This takes what may appear as mundane, simple tasks and makes them pregnant with love-rooted-significance.— Michael M. Rose
I chose a man and he chose me— Deborah Blake
You should have simply let it be
I chose a man and he chose you
Now this choice you both shall rue
You stole mine so I'll steal yours
Each mother's child that she adores
From every generation born
The first new child she will mourn
This curse unbroken now shall be
Down into eternity
Unless you find the pathway through
And solve the riddle with this clue
A rose's cry at rock enchanted
The sun's bright ray where none is slanted
A magic key to a gift divine
True love must merge when stars align
It isn't porn. It's erotic romance. There is a huge difference. Amber Rose writes hot love stories. And if you can't handle it, then I don't care. I love her books, and I wish I had known who she was when I met her. Erotic romance helped me figure out what I wanted." Jake— Lexi Blake
Lucy happily settled down to work. First she sent for papyrus and handmade a book leaf by leaf, binding the leaves together between board covers. Then she filled each page from memory, drew English roses budding and Chinese roses in full bloom, peppercorn-pink Bourbon roses climbing walls and silvery musk roses drowsing in flowerbeds. She took every rose she'd ever seen, made them as lifelike as she could (where she shaded each petal the rough paper turned silken), and in these lasting forms she offered them to Safiye.— Helen Oyeyemi
A dark shadow rose from the depth of the watercourse. Forced to crawl out of the oceans rolling waves, it struggled against the pull of the undertow. Rising, it moved further up the white sandy beach away from the cold water. The creature collapsed onto the cool sand as the crescent moon above shone on his sleek gray skin revealing two immense leather-like wings protruding from his back. Exhaustion clouded his mind.— Alaina Stanford
The darkness of night was soothing, refreshing. Somehow he knew it would bring him strength and sustenance. The creature watched as a great rolling storm cloud sunk into the salty water before him and he tried to remember why he had come.
Self-love is not the process of ignoring things, paying attention to fewer flaws or forcing yourself to look away from the parts of you that you perceive as ugly or unwanted. Self-love is the process of expanding your awareness, of seeing those flaws and imperfections alongside the incredible potential of the universe flowing within you, alongside the eternal truth of life flowing within your veins in each second, alongside the flickers of creativity and opportunity present within each moment of your existence. Like this, the imperfections persist, but only as lovable quirks, like a bad doorknob on the front door of a cottage in paradise, like a few thorns on a beautiful rose, like a cloud in a sunset. Like this, what was once unwanted becomes essential, memorable, humbling.— Vironika Tugaleva
You wouldn't have taken Rose to such a place, would you?"— Lisa Kleypas
"Of course not, but she is a little girl, and I'm-"
"My life", he interrupted quietly. "You're my entire life. If anything ever happens to you, Holly, there is nothing left for me.
You hardly see me in the sun,— Francisco X Stork
My sparkle's in the stars.
When all is dark around you,
I'm the memory of light.
I'm not the fruit of summer.
I'm not the blooming rose.
I live in roots of trees
And in the seeds of love.
When all is lost around you,
When life's last dream is gone,
I'll be the breath you breathe,
The next step that you take.
They had painted a lady leaning her arms on the sill of the window. This lady was waiting for a husband. Her flesh was slack and she was some forty-five years old. Perhaps she had been waiting since she was fifteen. A rose and mauve lady that had not yet gathered her flesh and her beauty into dark clothes, and still waited, like a rose stripped of its petals, with her faded colors and her artificial smile, bitter as a grimace.— Rafael Sanchez Ferlosio
I didn't want to drive him away, and I knew that most girls of my age weren't virgins. And even worse, physically, I wanted him too. I was curious to appease my own needs, and they were building by the day. My red light had already shifted to a yellow, but was I really ready for the green one? I was afraid that one day my body would overrule my doubts, and in the end, I would regret it.— Rose Wynters
What was a girl to do?
I will love you, my English rose, and you will fill my French dreams— Melissa De La Cruz
As the fireworks began to illuminate the sky above them, Blake and Veronica made love for the first time on Hideaway Hill.— Elle A. Rose
Why?" I asked softly. The word was carried away on the wind, but he heard.— Richelle Mead
"Because I want you."
I gave him a sad smile, wondering if we'd meet again in the land of the dead. "Wrong answer," I told him.
I let go.
[ ... ]
I looked him in the eye. "I will always love you."
Then I plunged the stake into his chest.
It wasn't as precise a blow as I would have liked, not with the skilled way he was dodging. I struggled to get the stake in deep enough to his heart, unsure if I could do it from this angle. Then, his struggles stopped. His eyes stared at me, stunned, and his lips parted, almost into a smile, albeit a grisly and pained one.
"That's what I was supposed to say ... " he gasped out.
A rose shook in her blood and shadowed her cheeks. Quick breath parted the petals of her lips. They trembled. Some southern wind of passion swept over her and stirred the dainty folds of her dress. "I love him", she said simply.— Oscar Wilde
She has lived and loved! There is no folded petal, no latent dewdrop, in this perfectly developed rose!— Nathaniel Hawthorne
Sometimes, Laura World wasn't a realm of log cabins or prairies, it was a way of being. Really, a way of being happy. I wasn't into the flowery sayings, but I was nonetheless in love with the idea of serene rooms full of endless quiet and time, of sky in the windows, of a life comfortably cluttered and yet in some kind of perfect feng shui equilibrium, where all the days were capacious enough to bake bread and write novels and perambulate the wooded hills deep in thought (though truthfully, I'd allow for the occasional Rose-style cocktail party as well).— Wendy McClure
It's just a word and I feel so much more than four fuckin' letters. But you need to hear it from me right now, so I'm giving it to you. I love you, London.— Nashoda Rose
Rose quartz is said to be the stone of unconditional love. This crystal opens the heart chakra and is believed to encourage self-love and forgiveness, and to help you let go of anger, resentment, and jealousy.— Miranda Kerr
This rose is not so fragrant as a summer flower, but it has stood through hardships none of them could bear: the cold rain of winter has sufficed to nourish it, and its faint sun to warm it; the bleak winds have not blanched it, or broken its stem, and the keen frost has not blighted it ... It is still fresh and blooming as a flower can be, with the cold snow even now on its petals. - Will you have it?— Anne Bronte
There were moments when something rose within him, not a thought nor a feeling, but a wave of some physical violence, and then he wanted to stop, to lean back, to feel the reality of his person heightened by the frame of steel that rose dimly about the bright, outstanding existence of his body as its center. He did not stop. He went on calmly. But his hands betrayed what he wanted to hide. His hands reached out, ran slowly down the beams and joints. The workers in the house had noticed it. They said: That guy's in love with the thing. He can't keep his hands off.— Ayn Rand
Love is the sacrament of life; it sets Virtue where virtue was not; cleanses men Of all the vile pollutions of this world; It is the fire which purges gold from dross, It is the fan which winnows wheat from chaff, It is the spring which in some wintry soil Makes innocence to blossom like a rose. The days are over when God walked with men, But Love, which is his image, holds his place. When a man loves a woman, then he knows God's secret, and the secret of the world. There is no house so lowly or so mean, Which, if their hearts be pure who live in it, Love will not enter; but if bloody murder Knock at the Palace gate and is let in, Love like a wounded thing creeps out and dies. This is the punishment God sets on sin. The wicked cannot love.— Oscar Wilde
Whatever your goal is: dedicate yourself to it and it's going to be a lot of sacrifice, but if you love what you want to do, it shouldn't be a problem.— Derrick Rose
But remember this if nothing else: I love you more than there are words or stars. I love you more than there are thoughts and feelings. I love you more than there are seconds or moments gone or to come. I love you.— Malorie Blackman
Like so many others of my tenure and temperament - stubborn ancients, I suppose - web reporting is anathema to everything I love about newspapering: getting a tip, developing leads, fleshing-out the details, then telling the story. Now it stops with the tip. Just verify (hopefully!) and post it. I didn't write stories anymore; I 'produced content.— Chris Rose
All right," I said, waving the cup away and dabbing moisture very carefully from my lips. "I'm fine." I breathed shallowly, feeling my heart begin to slow down. "Well. So. At least now I know why you've been coming back from the Cherokee villages in such a state of-- off--" I felt an unhinged giggle rising, and bent over, moaning as I stifled it. "Oh, Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ. And here I thought it was thoughts of me, driving you mad with lust."— Diana Gabaldon
He snorted then himself, though mildly. He put down the cup, rose, and turned back the coverlet. Then he looked at me, and his eyes were clear, unguarded.
"Claire," he said, quite gently, "it was you. It's always been you, and it always will be. Get into bed, and put the candle out. As soon as I've fastened the shutters, smoored the hearth, and barred the door, I'll come and keep ye warm.
You know I don't read novels,' she said and, trying to equal his jesting mood, went on: 'Besides, you once said it was the height of bad form for husbands and wives to love each other.'— Margaret Mitchell
'I once said too God damn many things,' he retorted abruptly and rose to his feet.
You deserve someone who will feel you at her side without needing to see you. And I've only felt that way about one boy.— Renee Ahdieh
Every rose is longing for joy and love; every rose know the language of the heart.— Debasish Mridha
She cut her eyes to the woods and whispered, "We're not alone, remember?" "I don't care who hears it. I love you!" His voice rose louder this time. She frowned. "Nothing's changed." "Everything has changed," he said.— C.C. Hunter
Patience does not mean to passively endure. It means to be farsighted enough to trust the end result of a process. What does patience mean? It means to look at the thorn and see the rose, to look at the night and see the dawn. Impatience means to be so shortsighted as to not be able to see the outcome. The lovers of God never run out of patience, for they know that time is needed for the crescent moon to become full.— Elif Shafak
The rose I gave you was an emblem of my— Anne Bronte
heart,' said she; 'would you take it away and
leave me here alone?'
'Would you give me your hand too, if I asked
it?'
'Have I not said enough?
Plant now the roses of Hope, Love, Promise, God Consciousness, and the Glory of your Soul.— Sylvia Browne
In the end I sort of though we created a companion who was so alive and dynamic and so wedded to the doctor that you'd need a whole universe to contain her in. The only way to get rid of her is to send her into a parallel world from which she can never return; otherwise she would stay with the doctor forever.— Russell T. Davies
She was chaos and beauty intertwined. A tornado of roses from divine.— Shakieb Orgunwall
Claire Waverley has started a successful new venture, Waverley's Candies. Though her handcrafted confections - rose to recall lost love, lavender to promote happiness and lemon verbena to soothe throats and minds - are singularly effective, the business of selling them is costing her the everyday joys of her family, and her belief in her own precious gifts.— Sarah Addison Allen
Enid had sent Rose a card with the words "I'm sorry" on it. She hadn't known what else to say because at that point she wasn't sure James knew anything about Toby Halliday. But now she wishes that she had said something else. Now that she's in love again herself - a complete surprise really, after all this time, and with someone she never expected to be in love with - Enid would tell Rose that she understands love is never the same. You can love different people over the course of a lifetime, but you won't love any two of them the same way, and quite frankly, you will love some of them more than others. A great deal more. If Toby was that to Rose - if he was the one she loved the most - then Enid would have said to her, "You will continue. But you will not recover. Don't expect that.— Helen Humphreys
By the time I rose and started walking again, I didn't begrudge my mother a thing. The truth was, in spite of all that, she'd been a spectacular mom. I knew it as I was growing up. I knew it in the days that she was dying. I knew it now. And I knew that was something. That it was a lot. I had plenty of friends who had moms who - no matter how long they lived - would never give them the all-encompassing love that my mother had given me. My mother considered that love her greatest achievement.— Cheryl Strayed
He sighed and then focused his eyes right on me. It was like drowning, drowning in seas of green. There was nothing in the world except for those eyes.— Richelle Mead
"I want to kiss you, Rose," he said softly. "And I want you to want me too.
I love you, Roza." He kissed me again. "I'll always be here for you. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."— Richelle Mead
The words were wonderful and dangerous. He shouldn't have said anything like that to me. He shouldn't have been promising he'd protect me, not when he was supposed to dedicate his life to protecting Moroi like Lissa. I couldn't be first in his heart, just like he couldn't be first in mine. That was why I shouldn't have said what I said next-but I did anyway.
"And I won't let anything happen to you," I promised. "I love you." He kissed me again, swallowing off any other words I might have added.
He fills me with horror and I do not hate him. How can I hate him, Raoul? Think of Erik at my feet, in the house on the lake, underground. He accuses himself, he curses himself, he implores my forgiveness! ... He confesses his cheat. He loves me! He lays at my feet an immense and tragic love ... He has carried me off for love! ... He has imprisoned me with him, underground, for love! ... But he respects me: he crawls, he moans, he weeps! ... And, when I stood up, Raoul, and told him that I could only despise him if he did not, then and there, give me my liberty ... he offered it ... he offered to show me the mysterious road ... Only ... only he rose too ... and I was made to remember that, though he was not an angel, nor a ghost, nor a genius, he remained the voice ... for he sang. And I listened ... and stayed! ... That night, we did not exchange another word. He sang me to sleep.— Gaston Leroux
When the years have all passed, there will gape the uncomfortable and unpredictable dark void of death, and into this I shall at last fall headlong, down and down and down, and the prospect of that fall, that uprooting, that rending apart of body and spirit, that taking off into so blank an unknown, drowns me in mortal fear and mortal grief. After all, life, for all its agonies of despair and loss and guilt, is exciting and beautiful, amusing and artful and endearing, full of liking and of love, at times a poem and a high adventure, at times noble and at times very gay; and whatever (if anything) is to come after it, we shall not have this life again.— Rose Macaulay
A rose's prick is better than a daisy's kiss.— Matshona Dhliwayo
Then a soft air, a simple melody, rose to the ears of the suddenly hushed court; and for me, it was May Day again, and I was no longer cold, for the sun burned bright and the grass smelled of its sour-sweet bruisings and an old man fashioned a ballad for the Nut-Brown maid, who would ever be true to her lover. I leaned towards the brightness and, in an abandonment of joy and because there was none to see, tore off my henin and let my nut-brown hair fall to my knees. For I would be a child again, for five minutes, and remember the time when men stopped to gaze at me, with my chaplet of flowers crowning that at which they all marvelled, and longed to touch and stroke and possess.— Rosemary Hawley Jarman
A person doesn't know true hurt and suffering until they've felt the pain of falling in love with someone whose affections lie elsewhere.— Rose Gordon
A sensation rose in him, a high tingling of his blood. There came a wave, a wind that recognized him, that did not love him or hate him. He felt what he knew as the rising of his self, the shifting innerness that yearned and feared, that was more familiar to him than anything could ever be. He knew that an answering substance gathered around him, emanating from the trees and the stars.— Michael Cunningham
He stood staring at the constellations. Walt had sent him here, to find this, and he understood. He thought he understood. This was his heaven. It was not Broadway or the horse on wheels. It was grass and silence; it was a field of stars. It was what the book told him, night after night. When he died he would leave his defective body and turn into grass. He would be here like this, forever. There was no reason to fear it, because it was part of him. What he'd thought of as his emptiness, his absence of soul, was only a yearning for this.
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose or topaz,— Pablo Neruda
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms,
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers.
Thanks to your love a certain fragrance,
risen darkly from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride,
so I love you because I know no other way than this:
where "I" does not exist, nor "you,"
So close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
So close that your eyes close and I fall asleep.
- Then ... it was like ... I don't even know how to describe it. Color and light and music and life and joy and love ... so many wonderful things, all the lovely things that make up the world and make it worth living.— Richelle Mead
Already, I seemed to feel my intellect deteriorating, my heart petrifying, my soul contracting; and I— Anne Bronte
trembled lest my very moral perceptions should become deadened, my distinctions of right and wrong confounded, and all my better faculties be sunk, at last, beneath the baneful influence of such a mode of life. The gross vapors of earth were gathering around me, and closing in upon my inward heaven; and thus it was that Mr. Weston rose at length upon me, appearing like the morning star in my horizon, to save me from the fear of utter darkness; and I rejoiced that I now had a subject for contemplation that was above me, not beneath.
Many of us have moments of weakness when we feel as if our cravings have taken us captive or left us out of control. Sometimes they leave our faith flavorless because we are craving what used to be or what we wish could be. The Bible tells us there is a season for everything, and if we don't learn to taste each season as it is served, we will end up missing special moments and those life lessons we need to draw closer to God. I love the seasons of love and laughter, but I have discovered that the seasons of loneliness and painful places are when I learn what my faith is for. The best way to season our faith again is to become salt in others' lives when our own feel lifeless.— Sheri Rose Shepherd
I can see how I could write a bold account of myself as a passionate man who rose from humble beginnings to cut a wide swath in the world, whose crimes along the way might be written off to extravagance and love and art, and could even almost believe some of it myself on certain days after the sun went down if I'd had a snort or two and was in Los Angeles and it was February and I was twenty-four, but I find a truer account in the Herald-Star, where it says: "Mr. Gary Keillor visited at the home of Al and Florence Crandall on Monday and after lunch returned to St. Paul, where he is currently employed in the radio show business ... Lunch was fried chicken with gravy and creamed peas".— Garrison Keillor
Peter," she began. He looked up at her, and she could see the pain in his eyes. "I love you," she said freely. With Peter, she was laid bare; he extracted her from herself.— Sarah Blakley-Cartwright
Peter didn't know what to say. HIs eyes glimmered, bright and burning. He only let her see them a moment before he turned away. He took a ragged breath.
"What were you doing with Rose anyway" she demanded, asking a lot of him.
Peter darkened again. He turned his back to her, took a step farther into the alley, and said in a dead voice, "I don't have to like her
to get what I want."
"I don't believe you," Valerie said, reaching for his face, again. Peter pulled away from her. "You're lying.
If love were what the rose is, And I were like the leaf, Our lives would grow together, In sad or singing weather, Blown fields or flowerful closes, Green pleasure or grey grief; If love were what the rose is, And I were like the leaf.— Algernon Charles Swinburne
Mona Simpson, rose to honor him at his memorial service, that's not what she focused on. Yes, she talked about his work and his work ethic. But mostly she raised these as manifestations of his passions. "Steve worked at what he loved," she said. What really moved him was love. "Love was his supreme virtue," she said, "his god of gods. "When [his son] Reed was born, he began gushing and— Arianna Huffington
Velva wasn't merely a rose among the thorns, the lily of the valleys, she was Empress amongst the stars and planet.— Mav Skye
