A Quote by Austin O'Malley

Sorrow, like rain makes roses and mud. — © Austin O'Malley
Sorrow, like rain makes roses and mud.
Mud and rain and wretchedness and blood. Why should jolly soldier-boys complain? God made these before the roofless Flood - Mud and rain.
Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby. The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk. The rain makes running pools in the gutter. The rain plays a little sellp-song on our roof at night- And I love the rain.
A Mudboy is just somebody who came from nothing: you know, who turned nothing into something. You know, when I was in Africa, in the rain, I walk around in, like, mud, you know, the sand would turn to mud, and you are not getting out of that.
My favorite weather pattern happens to be when it rains mud. Dust comes through. Rain on top of it. It rains mud.
It will never rain roses: when we want to have more roses we must plant more trees.
April Rain It is not raining rain to me, It's raining daffodils; In every dimpled drop I see Wild flowers on the hills. The clouds of gray engulf the day And overwhelm the town; It is not raining rain to me, It's raining roses down. It is not raining rain to me, But fields of clover bloom, Where any buccaneering bee May find a bed and room. A health unto the happy! A fig for him who frets!- It is not raining rain to me, It's raining violets.
From the time I can first recall the rain falling on the red clay in Florida. I wanted to make things. When my brothers and sisters were making mud pies, I would be making ducks and chickens with the mud.
Somewhere the sense makes copper roses steel roses — The rose carried weight of love but love is at an end — of roses It is at the edge of the petal that love waits.
I feel like the Roses were a great group, but I never wanted to try to do it again. I knew I couldn't get a band that would compare to the Roses, that would have an impact like the Roses.
A flower can't grow without rain. (Alexion) Too much rain and it drowns. (Danger) And yet the most beautiful of the lotus flowers are the ones that grow in the deepest mud. (Alexion)
Like a bird singing in the rain, let grateful memories survive in time of sorrow.
Some of my favorite songs are slow songs, like Guns N' Roses' 'November Rain.'
On the mainland, a rain was falling. The famous Seattle rain. The thin, gray rain that toadstools love. The persistent rain that knows every hidden entrance into collar and shopping bag. The quiet rain that can rust a tin roof without the tin roof making a sound in protest. The shamanic rain that feeds the imagination. The rain that seems actually a secret language, whispering, like the ecstasy of primitives, of the essence of things.
Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan, Sorrow calls no time that 's gone; Violets plucked, the sweetest rain Makes not fresh nor grow again.
If you pray for rain, be prepared to deal with some mud.
I love the sound of it," Trina whispers, as if speaking too loudly might interrupt the drumming patter of the rain outside. "It makes me want to sleep. Snuggle my head right up in your armpit and snore for three days." "My armpit?" Mark repeats. "Good thing we all showered up in the storm this morning. My pits smell like roses. Go ahead and get comfy.
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