R Rose Quotes

When a rose dies, a thorn is left behind.

Do you think that revolutions are made with rose water?

I didn't fall in love, I rose in it.

From the ruins, lonely and inexplicable as the sphinx, rose the Empire State Building.

If global warming meant temperatures rose by one or two degrees, France would become a desert, which would be no bad thing. The Scots would grow wine and make buffalo mozzarella.

Have you ever seen a donkey smelling a beautiful rose? Donkeys aren't interested in roses, they like thorn bushes or watermelon rinds!

By cool Siloam's shady rill How sweet the lily grows! How sweet the breath beneath the hill Of Sharon's dewy rose!

...she had come long ago to understand that loneliness was the curse of those who were free, even of all those who rose a little above the level of ordinary humanity.

Her body was wrapped in shadows like moth wings, like rose-petals.

Before the birth of Love, many fearful things took place through the empire of necessity; but when this god was born, all things rose to men.

Axl [Rose] is not the type of person to make something up. So I was sort of shocked that he went that direction. That caused me a lot of problems.

Do not be tempted by English roses. Their beauty fades, but their thorns are forever.

I like roses, ones with sharp thorns. Pretty to look at but hurts to touch, that's like me.

Roses are reddish Violets are bluish If it weren't for Christmas We'd all be Jewish.

Now and then it is a joy to have one's table red with wine and roses.

The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose.

At Christmas I no more desire a rose Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth; But like of each thing that in season grows.

A crown of roses is also a crown of thorns.

Most of the heroes of Scripture rose to their greatest victories after their worst mistakes. God is in the redemption business, and He testifies of this through the lives of everyone He calls.

The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyone the sculpted flower.

The artist is he who can take something ordinary and wring out of it attar of roses.

Love is the world's infinite mutability; lies, hatred, murder even, are all knit up in it; it is the inevitable blossoming of its opposites, a magnificent rose smelling faintly of blood.

Music was a thing of the soul — a rose-lipped shell that murmured of the eternal sea — a strange bird singing the songs of another shore.

I, Woman, am that wonder-breathing rose That blossoms in the garden of the King.

Information appears to stew out of me naturally, like the precious otter of roses out of the otter.

I love being a woman and I was not one of these women who rose through professional life by wearing men's clothes or looking masculine. I loved wearing bright colors and being who I am.

I beg your pardon, I never promised you a rose garden. Along with sunshine, there's got to be a little rain sometime.

The snows and the roses of yesterday are vanished; And what is love but a rose that fades?

I rose from marsh mud algae, equisetum, willows, sweet green, noisy birds and frogs.

Beware of prejudice; light is good in whatsoever lamp it is burning; a rose is beautiful in whatever garden it may bloom.

Discipline trains you to put up with disappointments, every rose has a thorn.

meditation is a way of developing clarity, which allows us to see the precision of daily life situations as well as our thought process so that we can relate with both of them fully and completely.

The rose does not bloom without thorns. True, but would that the thorns did not outlive the rose.

Thus with the year Seasons return, but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of ev'n or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine.

The rose does not have a why; it blossums without reason, forgetful of self and oblivious to our vision.

No rose without a thorn but many a thorn without a rose.

I have a garden of my own, But so with roses overgrown, And lilies, that you would it guess To be a little wilderness.

The best rose-bush, after all, is not that which has the fewest thorns, but that which bears the finest roses.

What a pity flowers can utter no sound!-A singing rose, a whispering violet, a murmuring honeysuckle ... oh, what a rare and exquisite miracle would these be!

In real life, unlike in Shakespeare, the sweetness of the rose depends upon the name it bears. Things are not only what they are. They are, in very important respects, what they seem to be.

One rose is enough for the dawn

Ah, those two. In a fight, they’re lethal. Around each other, they melt.

We were made to enjoy music, to enjoy beautiful sunsets, to enjoy looking at the billows of the sea and to be thrilled with a rose that is bedecked with dew.

You know those adages about smelling the roses and chasing butterflies? The markets are my butterflies and my roses.

I know a little garden close Set thick with lily and red rose, Where I would wander if I might From dewy dawn to dewy night. And have one with me wandering.

In the beginning, said a Persian poet Allah took a rose, a lily, a dove, a serpent, a little honey, a Dead Sea apple, and a handful of clay. When he looked at the amalgram it was a woman.

Our eyes reflect light. Better that the lips are more like a rose petal.

I feel thankful to God, first and foremost, allowing me to enjoy this 'smell the roses' kind of thing.

There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass.

There are thorns everywhere, but along the path of vice, roses bloom above them.