A Quote by Emily Bronte

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? — © Emily Bronte
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?
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.
HOLLY TREE (Ilex aquifolium) is a symbol of good will and is associated with sun gods. In Rome the holly was sacred to Saturn and was employed in the rites of the Saturnalia, where it was a symbol of health and happiness. The holly is an evergreen and therefore is associated with the sun god.
At last Niko dropped his hands, and opened his eyes. His perfect tree illusion solidified and settled. "Very nice," said Briar with approval. "Couldn't have done better myself" "Couldn't do it at all yourself," muttered Tris. Briar ignored her. "But you'd never find a cork oak in these parts. Too cold." Niko looked down his nose at the boy. "I beg your pardon?" Briar shrugged. "Just thought I'd mention it." Niko glared.
HOLLY KING is a symbol of the waning forces of Nature... The Holly King is depicted as an old man in winter garb. His head bears a wreath of holly and he often carries a staff that is typically a holly branch. Some Santa Claus figures are actually Holly King figures.
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.
A rose by any other name Would get the blame For being what it is-- The colour of a kiss, The shadow of a flame. A rose may earn another name, So call it love; So call it love I will, And love is like the sea, Which changes constantly, And yet is still The same.
A rose is but a rose, it blooms because it blooms; it thinks not of itself, nor asks if it is seen.
Hope is like a harebell, trembling from its birth,Love is like a rose, the joy of all the earth,Faith is like a lily, lifted high and white,Love is like a lovely rose, the world's delight.Harebells and sweet lilies show a thornless growth,But the rose with all its thorns excels them both.
And all the woods are alive with the murmur and sound of Spring, And the rose-bud breaks into pink on the climbing briar, And the crocus-bed is a quivering moon of fire Girdled round with the belt of an amethyst ring.
And as, when all the summer trees are seen So bright and green, The Holly leaes a sober hue display Less bright than they, But when the bare and wintry woods we see, What then so cheerful as the Holly-tree?
Holly, do you trust me?” Holly groaned. “Artemis, don’t ask me that. I just know one of your outrageous plans is coming.” “Do you trust me?” “Yes,” Holly sighed. “I do. More than anyone.
Never love a wild thing, Mr. Bell,’ Holly advised him. ‘That was Doc’s mistake. He was always lugging home wild things. A hawk with a hurt wing. One time it was a full-grown bobcat with a broken leg. But you can’t give your heart to a wild thing; the more you do, the stronger they get. Until they’re strong enough to run into the woods. Or fly into a tree. Then a taller tree. Then the sky. That’s how you’ll end up Mr. Bell. If you let yourself love a wild thing. You’ll end up looking at the sky.
Consider the rose...The rose is the sweetest smelling flower of all, and it's the most beautiful because it's the most simple, right? But sometimes, you got to clip the rose. You got to cut the rose back, so something sweeter smelling and stronger, and even more beautiful, will grow in its place
Holly Black is the Real Thing: a gifted writer with a solid grounding in what matters. Her stories are dark and splendid blooms rising from roots sunk deep in myth and tradition.
Everything is complex and everything is simple. The rose has no why attached to it, it blooms because it blooms, how no thought of itself, or desire to be seen. What could be more complicated than a rose for someone who wants to understand it? What could be simpler for someone who wants nothing? The complexity of thinking, the simplicity of beholding.
Artemis: Holly, how did you find me? Holly: Oh, I saw a huge explosion and wondered: now, who could that be?
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