Gourdon Flowers Quotes

#1. Stop watering the dead flowers
That he once planted in your heart.

Yes,
They were once beautiful
But it is almost Autumn now
And they've become withered.
But next spring,
Rip them out from the roots and
And plant new ones
All by yourself
For yourself.
You belong to no one.
Not to him.
Not to the next person.
You belong soley
And Utterly,
To you. #Quote by Zienab Hamdan

#2. I suppose he'll try to court and marry Az. He likes her best."
"He arrives at the palace doors, on a fine black horse," Delphinium prompted, picking up Bramble's lost thread, and Eve spun her again, "silver flowers in his hand-"
"And the King opens the door-" squeaked Flora, who caught Azalea.
And then,everyone stopped.Azalea's skirts twisted, then settled. It occurred to all of them what would happen next.
"And boxes Keeper straight in the face," Azalea finished.
Everyone managed to giggle, though it as true. Azalea shook her head, smiling.
"Well," said Eve as they gathered the sleeping girls up from their cushions. "It would be odd if you married him anyway."
"Aye," said Bramble. "Your children would be dsappearing all over the place. #Quote by Heather Dixon Wallwork

#3. Now see the nasturtiums. The leaves are like tiny green parasols blown inside-out and the flowers are terrifically garish. In every village we pass through, see how they are everywhere, how they fill every gap in every wall, every crack in every path.
The nasturtiums have it figured out, how survival's just a matter of filling in the gaps between sun up and sun down. Boiling kettles, peeling potatoes, laundering towels, buying milk, changing light-bulbs, rooting wet mats of pubic hair out of the shower's plughole. This is the way people survive, by filling one hole at a time for the flightiest of temporary gratifications, over and over and over, until the season's out and they die off anyway, wither back into the wall or path, into their dark crevasse. This is the way life's eaten away, expended by the onerous effort of living itself. #Quote by Sara Baume

#4. I listen to the things people want out of love these days and they blow my mind. I go to the pub with the boys from the squad and listen while they explain, with minute precision, exactly what shape a woman should be, what bits she should shave how, what acts she should perform on which date and what she should always or never do or say or want; I eavesdrop on women in cafes while they reel off lists of which jobs a man is allowed, which cars, which labels, which flowers and restaurants and gemstones get the stamp of approval, and I want to shout, Are you people out of your tiny minds? #Quote by Tana French

#5. Look, sister, I'm doing a handstand; leaves are growing out of my body, roots are sprouting out of my hands...they delve down into the earth. Endlessly, endlessly...yes, I spread my legs because I wanted flowers to bloom from my crotch; I spread them wide... #Quote by Han Kang

#6. So it's best to walk alone, except that one is never entirely alone. As Henry David Thoreau wrote: 'I have a great deal of company in the house, especially in the morning when nobody calls.' To be buried in Nature is perpetually distracting. Everything talks to you, greets you, demands your attention: trees, flowers, the colour of the roads. The sigh of the wind, the buzzing of insects, the babble of streams, the impact of your feet on the ground: a whole rustling murmur that responds to your presence. Rain, too. A light and gentle rain is a steady accompaniment, a murmur you listen to with its intonations, outbursts, pauses: the distinct plopping of drops splashing on stone, the long melodious weave of sheets of rain falling steadily.

It's impossible to be alone when walking, with so many things under our gaze which are given to us through the inalienable grasp of contemplation. #Quote by Frederic Gros

#7. The Winding Stair

My Soul. I summon to the winding ancient stair;
Set all your mind upon the steep ascent,
Upon the broken, crumbling battlement,
Upon the breathless starlit air,
'Upon the star that marks the hidden pole;
Fix every wandering thought upon
That quarter where all thought is done:
Who can distinguish darkness from the soul

My Self. The consecretes blade upon my knees
Is Sato's ancient blade, still as it was,
Still razor-keen, still like a looking-glass
Unspotted by the centuries;
That flowering, silken, old embroidery, torn
From some court-lady's dress and round
The wodden scabbard bound and wound
Can, tattered, still protect, faded adorn

My Soul. Why should the imagination of a man
Long past his prime remember things that are
Emblematical of love and war?
Think of ancestral night that can,
If but imagination scorn the earth
And intellect is wandering
To this and that and t'other thing,
Deliver from the crime of death and birth.

My Self. Montashigi, third of his family, fashioned it
Five hundred years ago, about it lie
Flowers from I know not what embroidery -
Heart's purple - and all these I set
For emblems of the day against the tower
Emblematical of the night,
And claim as by a soldier's right
A charter to commit the crime once more.

My #Quote by W.B. Yeats

#8. Your choice. Cunt or pussy, but so help me God, if you say some lame ass word like flower or lady garden you'll pay for it later, because I don't fuck gardens or flowers any more than I have a love sword attached to my groin. #Quote by Elizabeth Finn

#9. They're wood violets," she said. "I haven't seen them on the island since...."
"They're very rare," Henry said, filling the void that Bee had left when her voice trailed off. "You can't plant them, for they won't grow. They have to choose you."
Bee's eyes met Henry's, and she smiled, a gentle, forgiving smile. It warmed me to see it. "Evelyn has a theory about these flowers," she said, pausing as if to pull a dusty memory off a shelf in her mind, handling it with great care. "Yes," she said, the memory in plain view. "She used to say they grow where they are needed, that they signal healing, and hope. #Quote by Sarah Jio

#10. i will wade out until my thighs are steeped in burning flowers. i will take the sun in my mouth and leap into the ripe air #Quote by E. E. Cummings

#11. She tasted like flowers and chocolate and gentle waves upon the shore. #Quote by Catherine Bybee

#12. Pick the weeds and keep the flowers. #Quote by Kelly Clarkson

#13. I would like to believe in the myth that we grow wiser with age. In a sense my disbelief is wisdom. Those of a middle generation, if charitable or sentimental, subscribe to the wisdom myth, while the callous see us as dispensable objects, like broken furniture or dead flowers. For the young we scarcely exist unless we are unavoidable members of the same family, farting, slobbering, perpetually mislaying teeth and bifocals. #Quote by Patrick White

#14. Never seek support elsewhere than in the Divine. Never seek satisfaction elsewhere than in the Divine. Never seek the satisfaction of your needs in anyone else than the Divine - never, for anything at all.

The Spiritual Significance of Flowers, p.73 #Quote by The Mother

#15. I want to be the be-all and end-all when it comes to my daughter. I want to be the man that every other man has to look up to. I will treat her like a princess because if I don't, she might go out and latch on to the first man who does. So yeah, I open car doors and I take her on dates and I buy her flowers for no reason. Because I want her to know she's worthy of all of those things. And I fix hair. #Quote by Tammy Falkner

#16. The proper education of the young does not consist in stuffing their heads with a mass of words, sentences, and ideas dragged together out of various authors, but in opening up their understanding to the outer world, so that a living stream may flow from their own minds, just as leaves, flowers, and fruit spring from the bud on a tree. #Quote by John Amos Comenius

#17. If, though full of respect for social conventions and never overstepping the bounds they draw round us, if, nonetheless, it should come to pass that the wicked tread upon flowers, will it not be decided that it is preferable to abandon oneself to the tide rather than to resist it? Will it not be felt that Virtue, however beautiful, becomes the worst of all attitudes when it is found too feeble to contend with Vice, and that, in an entirely corrupted age, the safest course is to follow along after the others? #Quote by Marquis De Sade

#18. I had a dream about you. You were asleep in a field of flowers, looking so heartbreakingly beautiful, and I woke you up by sucking your cock. #Quote by Clancy Nacht

#19. Jealousy smells like the water in the bottom of a flower vase after the flowers have died. #Quote by Megan Hart

#20. In general: the true artist is always true to his art; the impostor is self-conscious, demonstrating his idea, projecting his theory, his ego, and e.g. the figures of the painter are not borrowed ideas who demonstrate themselves talking, dying, dreaming - they dot it. They are not of themselves and they LIVE! -And the flowers are not showing us how pretty they are, or how weird. They are what they are - Etc.! No invention for the sake of invention! Invention must serve the purpose of art. #Quote by Vivienne Westwood

#21. Go home, Sean. Go plant some flowers and mow your grass. And maybe hatch a couple more kids."
"You sound like Colleen. That's what she wants."
"It's what we all want. Some of us just don't know it yet. #Quote by Jeff Shaara

#22. Love is something like the clouds that were in the sky before the sun came out..you cannnot touch the clouds,you know; but you feel the rain and know how glad the flowers are to have it after a hot day.You cannot touch love either; but you feel the sweetness that it pours into everything. Without love we would not be happy. #Quote by Annie Sullivan

#23. Oh God. We're talking about me being naked, in the shower with cooter cream. Please world, end. Kill me.

"I know it's not soap. I just… if it's scented… I can't do scented. Flowers and stuff like that. Fruit-flavored soaps make… things… burnish." She could tell from the peeks at his face Mr. Fitzwell had never stepped foot in bath and lotion store, wanting to try the array of fun fragrances. Nor had he purchased Peppermint Candy shower gel, foamed up his nether regions, and felt like he had dipped them in lava. Dove crossed and uncrossed her legs at the memory.

Mr. Fitzwell seemed concerned. "Okay, just a heads-up. It's definitely not good to put any fruits or plant life near your genitals." He made a V with his hands and formed his own pretend vagina in front of his pants.

Dove covered her eyes and tried to defend herself because now she could hear the sickly older woman beating her supporters with a purse.

Dove's mumbling got louder with her embarrassment. "I don't put weird things down… there. Just make sure that the cream's vagina-scented. Just plain. For vaginas." She kept her eyes on the counter. #Quote by Debra Anastasia

#24. The flowers in the bride's hand are sadly like the garland which decked the heifers of sacrifice in old times!"
"Still, Sue, it is no worse for the woman than for the man. That's what some women fail to see, and instead of protesting against the conditions they protest against the man, the other victim; just as a woman in a crowd will abuse the man who crushes against her, when he is only the helpless transmitter of the pressure put upon him. #Quote by Thomas Hardy

#25. The symbolic evidence of women's invisibility in the human race is most clear perhaps in her suppression, her camouflage, her negation even in language. Women are subsumed, excised, erased by male pronouns, by male terminology, by male prayers about brotherhood and brethren, even and always by exclusively male images of God. The tradition that will call God spirit, rock, key door, wind, and bird will never ever call God mother. So much for the creative womb of God; so much for "I am who am." So much for "Let us make human beings in our own image, male and female, let us make them." What kind of spirituality is that? To take the position that using two pronouns for the human race is not important in a culture that has thirty words for car, multiple words for flowers, and dozens of words for dog breeds is to say that women are not important. #Quote by Joan D. Chittister

#26. The extreme clarity of the desert light is equaled by the extreme individuation of desert life forms. Love flowers best in openness and freedom. #Quote by Edward Abbey

#27. Tropical palms bring strong solar energy to your home that break up stale energy, and keep your home safe from nasty spiritual entities. The African violet is associated with love and magic, and its vibrant purple flowers pull lunar energy into your home. Aloe, a succulent that grows in long spears, is moon planet associated with the water element because the gel inside the leaves in cooling and healing. The clusters of star shaped flowers that grow on the long tendrils of the hoya, also called a wax plant, produce truly intoxicating nectar whose aroma fills the whole house and bestows blessings on anyone who smells it. #Quote by Paige Vanderbeck

#28. He whose thoughts, like skylarks, Toward the morning sky take flight - Who hovers over life and understands with ease The language of flowers and silent things! #Quote by Charles Baudelaire

#29. A company is simply a group of people. And as a leader of people, you have to be a great listener, you have to be a great motivator, you have to be very good at praising and looking for the best in people. People are no different from flowers. If you water flowers, they flourish. If you praise people, they flourish. That's a critical attribute of a leader. #Quote by Richard Branson

#30. ...death isn't bad. It's not. It's just that life is so good. So damn good that you just wanna hold on to it, and everybody in it. But we can't. But what we can do, is appreciate it more. Y'know, smell the flowers. #Quote by Jason Reynolds

#31. Scent and Sentiment
You are the nightingale's song,
the peacock's plumage,
the crane's dance distilled into effluence.
You lie beyond emotion's gamut
like terror's drizzle of acrid sweat,
and adhere to me in musky clumps --
the rarefied extracts of almonds and flowers
from our vanishingpharmacopeia.
I hereby bid farewell
and renounce this klutzy kiss
as my salutation of desire;
I respectfully abrogate your puckered throne
that has too long ruled my instinct without sense.
I will seal this covenant
the way the Inuit intuit getting into it:
with blood soup, oogruk flippers boiled in blubber,
and the nuzzle of noses.
above the melting ice. #Quote by Beryl Dov

#32. At the door to the shop, a bell tinkled, and moments later they seemed to enter the very flowering of lavender.
The scent was all around them; it curled and diffused in the air with a sweet warmth and subtlety, then burst with a peppery, musky intensity. The blind girls moved into another room. There they arranged themselves expectantly around a long wooden table, Mme Musset welcomed them, and a cork was pulled with a squeaky pop.
"This is pure essence of lavender, grown on the Valensole plateau," said Madame. "It is in a glass bottle I am sending around to the right for you all to smell. Be patient, and you will get your turn."
Other scents followed: rose and mimosa and oil of almond. Now that they felt more relaxed, some of the other girls started being silly, pretending to sniff too hard and claiming the liquid leapt up at them. Marthe remained silent and composed, concentrating hard. Then came the various blends: the lavender and rosemary antiseptic, the orange and clove scent for the house in winter, the liqueur with the tang of juniper that made Marthe unexpectedly homesick for her family's farming hamlet over the hills to the west, where as a child she had been able to see brightness and colors and precise shapes of faces and hills and fruits and flowers. #Quote by Deborah Lawrenson

#33. Let life be beautiful like summer flowers and death like autumn leaves. #Quote by Rabindranath Tagore

#34. Look, if I don't flirt with you, you should take that as a compliment. I don't always respect myself, but I almost never respect men. They're like flowers all showy, a lot of color and lust. You pick them and throw them on the ground. But you I respect. I always did. From the first day I saw you. #Quote by Barbara Kingsolver

#35. ...Identity arises spontaneously out of our bodies and minds, and spontaneously evolves in name, meaning, structure, and appearance. All of these spontaneously arising things are not fixed and isolated... If I am subsumed by blackness, speaking and acting out from some idea of it, I am apt to overlook the completely mysterious unfolding of this dark flowering body... When I see my embodiment as nothing more than nature, nothing more than a flower, nothing to be annihilated, the experience of my life as interrelated allows tenderness to well up, despite the impositions of hatred, whether from without or within. Others may be unable to see me or those that look like me as flowers, but this does not make it any less so. #Quote by Zenju Earthlyn Manuel

#36. It was a perfect spring afternoon, and the air was filled with vague, roving scents, as if the earth exhaled the sweetness of hidden flowers. #Quote by Ellen Glasgow

#37. The bougainvillea hung about it, purple and magenta, in livid balloons. #Quote by Anita Desai

#38. Algernon is so smart he has to solve a problem with a lock that changes every time he goes in to eat so he has to lern something new to get his food. That made me sad because if he coulnt lern he wouldnt be able to eat and he would be hungry. #Quote by Daniel Keyes

#39. To mean understandings, it is sufficient honour to be numbered amongst the lowest labourers of learning; but different abilities must find different tasks. To hew stone, would have been unworthy of Palladio; and to have rambled in search of shells and flowers, had but ill suited with the capacity of Newton. #Quote by Samuel Johnson

#40. They leaned towards him, like flowers to the sun, drinking in his luster. It was as Odysseus had said: he had light enough to make heroes of them all. #Quote by Madeline Miller

#41. For millions of years flowers have been producing thorns. For millions of years sheep have been eating them all the same. And it's not serious, trying to understand why flowers go to such trouble to produce thorns that are good for nothing? It's not important, the war between the sheep and the flowers? It's no more serious and more important than the numbers that fat red gentleman is adding up? Suppose I happen to know a unique flower, one that exists nowhere in the world except on my planet, one that a little sheep can wipe out in a single bite one morning, just like that, without even realizing what he'd doing - that isn't important? If someone loves a flower of which just one example exists among all the millions and millions of stars, that's enough to make him happy when he looks at the stars. He tells himself 'My flower's up there somewhere ... ' But if the sheep eats the flower, then for him it's as if, suddenly, all the stars went out. And that isn't important? #Quote by Antoine De Saint Exupery