A Quote by John Arnott

Forgiveness is the scent that the rose leaves on 
the heel that crushes it. — © John Arnott
Forgiveness is the scent that the rose leaves on the heel that crushes it.
The fairest things have fleetest end, Their scent survives their close: But the rose's scent is bitterness To him that loved the rose.
I've always loved the scent of rose; it's just the most beautiful scent. If you open my bathroom cupboard, everything is rose scented.
In a bouquet of mixed roses, most people can distinguish at a glance the delicacy of a tea rose from the voluptuousness of a cabbage rose, but how many could so readily differentiate between the tea rose's scent of freshly harvested tea and the spicy, honeylike, rich floral scent of the cabbage?
All June I bound the rose in sheaves, Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves.
The splendor of the rose and the whiteness of the lily do not rob the little violet of it’s scent nor the daisy of its simple charm. If every tiny flower wanted to be a rose, spring would lose its loveliness.
War crushes with bloody heel all justice, all happiness, all that is Godlike in man. In our age there can be no peace that is not honorable; there can be no war that is not dishonorable.
I think it's better if blokes can admit that they can have crushes on other blokes. I've probably had crushes but never really sexual crushes on men.
Forgiveness is the fragrance the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.
Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.
The rose is a rose, And was always a rose. But the theory now goes That the apple's a rose, And the pear is, and so's The plum, I suppose. The dear only knows What will next prove a rose. You, of course, are a rose - But were always a rose.
Love is like the wild rose-briar; Friendship like the holly-tree. The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms, But which will bloom most constantly? The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring ,Its summer blossoms scent the air; Yet wait till winter comes again, And who will call the wild-briar fair? Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now, And deck thee with holly's sheen, That, when December blights thy brow, He still may leave thy garland green.
Love is both Creator's and Saviour's gospel to mankind; a volume bound in rose-leaves, clasped with violets, and by the beaks of humming-birds printed with peach-juice on the leaves of lilies.
Something with inner beauty will live forever, like the scent of a rose.
So, timely you came, and well you chose, You came when most needed, my winter rose. From the snow I pluck you, and fondly press Your leaves 'twixt the leaves of my leaflessness.
I have never been much of a groomer. I take baths a lot, but I don't wear deodorant. I don't have to. I have a miraculous body scent. I've had women smell me and say that should be bottled. I would advise guys to lay off the Drakkar, because the cavemen weren't wearing it. They might have been putting mint leaves on their balls, but your scent is grown naturally. I have really good dating advice.
In the middle of a garden grew a rose tree; it was full of roses, and in the loveliest of them all lived an elf. He was so tiny that no human eye could see him. He had a snug little room behind every petal of the rose. He was as well made and as perfect as any human child, and he had wings reaching from his shoulders to his feet. Oh, what a delicious scent there was in his room, and how lovely and transparent the walls were, for they were palest pink, rose petals.
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