A Quote by William Shakespeare

Sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste. — © William Shakespeare
Sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste.
He who hunts for flowers will finds flowers; and he who loves weeds will find weeds.
Life, it is not simple like a garden, where flowers are always flowers and weeds are always weeds.
I don't like weeds! My father made me mow weeds and cut weeds when I was a kid. I've hated weeds ever since I was 12 years old. I'll never go in the weeds! I'll never gonna take you in the weeds.
Even though flowers fall, don't regret it. Even though weeds grow, don't hate them. Don't arouse the passions of attraction and repulsion, hating and loving. If only we don't arouse the passions, the falling of flowers and the growing of weeds as they are is manifest absolute reality.
He was met even now As mad as the vex'd sea; singing aloud; Crown'd with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds, With bur-docks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow In our sustaining corn.
Make haste therefore, sweet love, whilst it is prime, For none can call again the passed time.
You cannot take the mild approach to the weeds in your mental garden. You have got to hate weeds enough to kill them. Weeds are not something you handle; weeds are something you devastate.
The true gardener then brushes over the ground with slow and gentle hand, to liberate a space for breath round some favorites; but he is not thinking about destruction except incidentally. It is only the amateur like myself who becomes obsessed and rejoices with a sadistic pleasure in weeds that are big and bad enough to pull, and at last, almost forgetting the flowers altogether, turns into a Reformer.
I cultivate my flowers and burn my weeds.
Pick the weeds and keep the flowers.
Flowers are like the sweet babies of the nature; they make us to smile.
Where soil is, men grow, Whether to weeds or flowers.
Nature knows no difference between weeds and flowers.
Our finest flowers are often weeds transplanted.
Haste is slow. [Lat., Festinatio tarda est.]
Weeds are luckier than flowers because they are not killed for their beauties!
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