A Quote by Philibert Joseph Roux

The Holy Scriptures praise the dew of the morning and the dew of the evening; ros matutinum, ros serotinum! Happy is he who possesses the gift of tears! when young, he will bear flowers; when old, fruit!
Imagine a multidimensiona l spider's web in the early morning covered with dew drops. And every dew drop contains the reflection of all the other dew drops. And, in each reflected dew drop, the reflections of all the other dew drops in that reflection. And so ad infinitum. That is the Buddhist conception of the universe in an image.
We blossom under praise like flowers in sun and dew; we open, we reach, we grow.
My favorite all-time artist... I would say, I think that must be Sigur Ros, I love that band. It's like going to the stars for me. When I put the music from Jonsi or Sigur Ros on, it's so relaxing, it's warm and it never gets boring to listen to, you always hear new things. Yeah, that must be my favorite band.
People will not bear it when advice is violently given, even if it is well founded. Hearts are flowers; they remain open to the softly falling dew, but shut up in the violent downpour of rain.
Two roses on one slender spray In sweet communion grew, Together hailed the morning ray And drank the evening dew.
I'm young as morning and fresh as dew. Everybody loves me and so do you.
When the bee has gathered the dew of heaven and the earth's sweetest nectar from the flowers, it turns it into honey, then hastens to its hive. In the same way, the priest, having taken from the altar the Son of God (who is as the dew from heaven, and true son of Mary, flower of our humanity), gives him to you as delicious food.
The white man has settled like a locust over Africa, and, like the locusts in early morning, cannot take flight for the heaviness of the dew on their wings. But the dew that weights the white man is the money that he makes from our labor.
On the Death of his Child Dew Evaporates And all our world is dew...so dear, So fresh, so fleeting
Oh fair, oh sweet and holy as dew at morning tide, I gaze on thee, and yearnings, sad in my bosom hide.
The rose is fairest when 't is budding new, And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears. The rose is sweetest wash'd with morning dew, And love is loveliest when embalm'd in tears.
The person who doesn't scatter the morning dew will not comb gray hairs.
There is a dew in one flower and not in another, because one opens in cup and takes it in, while the other closes itself, and the drops run off. God rains His goodness and mercy as widespread as the dew, and if we lack them, it is because we will not open our hearts to receive them.
Greek is the morning land of languages, and has the freshness of early dew in it which will never exhale.
Delicious tears! The heart's own dew.
All beauty of this world is wet with the dew of tears.
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