The rich smell of the rose was almost visible; I fancied it lent a rosy edge to the shadows cast by the firelight.
One can talk good and shower down roses, but it's the receiver that has to walk through the thorns, and all its false expectations.
Every new dayOur children's joy is as fresh as roses,Even the birds chatter at dawn.
As you walk down the fairway of life you must smell the roses, for you only get to play one round.
I love bringing roses to a woman when she least expects it.
This rose of pearl-coated infinity transformsthe diseased slums of a broken heartinto a palace made of psalms and gold.
As we come marching, marching, we battle too for men,For they are women's children, and we mother them again.Our lives shall not be sweated from birth until life closes;Hearts starve as well as bodies...
Thorns do not keep a rose from blooming, neither should obstacles keep you from success.
She hated the way roses smelled, their sweetness too fragile. She wanted a garden of evergreens. A garden of stones. A garden of swords.
Roses do not bloom hurriedly; for beauty, like any masterpiece, takes time to blossom.
A rose does not answer its enemies with words, but with beauty.