Top 1200 Rose Buds Quotes & Sayings - Page 3

LOVE is like a burden ROSE, but a burden LOVE is never been a beautiful ROSE.

Children are sweet as the buds in spring, But I've noticed that those who have them Have nothing but trouble all their lives.

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.

Rose:i love you Doctor:Quite right, and i guess if it's my last chance to say it... Rose Tyler... (the doctor fades, him in his TARDIS, with tear tracks and a tear running down his cheek)

The Sick Rose O Rose, thou art sick. The invisible worm That flies in the night In the howling storm Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy, And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy.

I just wish I could have all this and stand up to her a little. Rose would." "Rose would have gotten herself arrested for treason the first time Tatiana asked her to do something.

Killing a being just to satiate your taste buds is the most criminal act ever.

Now get that Rose, get that get that Rose A little Hennessy & Louis the Thirteenth

Italian wines are my favorites. I like a big, booming red wine that blows your taste buds away.

The candle-buds opened their wide white flowers....Their scent spilled out into the air and took possession of the island.

I would not be a rose upon the wall A queen might stop at, near the palace-door, To say to a courtier, "Pluck that rose for me, It's prettier than the rest." O Romney Leigh! I'd rather far be trodden by his foot, Than lie in a great queen's bosom.

Pizza or pasta do not tingle my taste buds, neither can I digest them.

Rose Hathaway: "Was he right?” Dimitri Belikov: "Who?” Rose Hathaway: "Victor…he said it couldn't have worked. The necklace.” Dimitri Belikov: "What do you mean?” Rose Hathaway: "The spell. Victor said you had to want me…to care about me…for it to work. Did you? Did you want me?” Dimitri Belikov: "Yes, Roza. I did want you. I still do. I wish…we could be together.” (Vampire Academy)

If you walked by a street and you was walking a concrete and you saw a rose growing from concrete, even if it had messed up petals and it was a little to the side you would marvel at just seeing a rose grow through concrete. So way is it that when you see some ghetto kid grow out of the dirtiest circumstance and he can talk and he can sit across the room and make you cry, make you laugh, all you can talk about is my dirty rose, my dirty stems and how am leaning crooked to the side, u can't even see that I've come up from out of that.

I think peas are really nasty. I liked them when I was younger, but I guess when you get older you have different taste buds.

He was bookish, she was not; he was theoretical, she political. She called a rose a rose. He called it an accumulation of cultural and biological constructions circulating around the mutually attracting binary poles of nature/artifice.

Children are like buds in a garden and should be carefully and lovingly nurtured, as they are the future of the nation and the citizens of tomorrow.

I did get knocked down flat in front of the whole world, and I rose. I didn't run away - I rose right where I'd been knocked down. And then that's how you get to know yourself. You say, hmm, I can get up!

Once we hit forty, women only have about four taste buds left: one for vodka, one for wine, one for cheese, and one for chocolate.

They've changed the name from white supremacy to white separatists, to white nationalists, to alt-right. It's the same thing. A rose by any other name is still a rose.

Dryness promotes the formation of flower buds...flowering is, after all, not an aesthetic contribution, but a survival mechanism.

Did you hear about the rose that grew from a crack in the concrete? Proving nature's laws wrong, it learned to walk without having feet. Funny, it seems to by keeping it's dreams; it learned to breathe fresh air. Long live the rose that grew from concrete when no one else even cared.

The work of vegetation begins first in the irritability of the bark and leaf-buds.

I read in a book once that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, but I've never been able to believe it. I don't believe a rose WOULD be as nice if it was called a thistle or a skunk cabbage.

The trees that have it in their pent-up buds To darken nature and be summer woods.

The rose is a rose from the time it is a seed to the time it dies. Within it, at all times, it contains its whole potential. It seems to be constantly in the process of change: Yet at each state, at each moment, it is perfectly all right as it is.

'Taste Buds' is a food debate show and 'Hey Babe!' is just kind of anything and everything.

The first rose on my rose-tree Budded, bloomed, and shattered, During sad days when to me Nothing mattered. Grief or grief has drained me clean; Still it seems a pity No one saw,—it must have been Very pretty.

Marmalade in the morning has the same effect on taste buds that a cold shower has on the body.

Angels in the early morning may be seen the dews among. Stooping, plucking, smiling, flying. Do the buds to them belong?

There is one thing that very reliably try to trumps the food supply and that is food demand. At the end of the day, the business of business is business and they are just trying to keep the customers satisfied, it depends what we want. The problem in our current mess is we want all the wrong stuff. Why do we want the wrong stuff? Because taste buds are very malleable little fellows. They learn to like what they know. We're bathing our taste buds in too much sugar, too much salt, too much processed food all day long. That's what they know and crave.

I think I can capture the taste buds of the average right-wing conservative who loves barbecue.

When I was in high school, I was dating this girl and wanted to make her birthday really special. I showed up early to school and went around to every single one of her classes and left a rose with her teachers. Each rose had a note with a little inside joke.

The smell of the sea, of kelp and fish and bitter moving water, rose stronger in my nostrils. It flooded my consciousness like an ancestral memory. The swells rose sluggishly and fell away, casting up dismal gleams between the boards of the pier. And the whole pier rose and fell in stiff and creaking mimicry, dancing its long slow dance of dissolution. I reached the end and saw no one, heard nothing but my footsteps and the creak of the beams, the slap of waves on the pilings. It was a fifteen-foot drop to the dim water. The nearest land ahead of me was Hawaii.

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 donning of the ear buds marks the beginning of teen life, when children set off on their own for the passage through adolescence.

I heard a fella say once he'd rather have a rose bud when he was alive than to have a whole rose garden thrown his way after he is gone. It looks like they've (the National Baseball Hall of Fame in 1935) thrown the roses my way while I'm still here.

He stepped back and threw his arms out. "I'm always crazy around you Rose. Here, I'm going to write an impromptu poem for you." He tipped his head back and shouted to the sky: "Rose is in red But never in blue Sharp as a thorn Fights like one too.

Violet heard the coughing and came running back. She sank down on the bench beside Rose, putting her arm around the older girl and holding a handkerchief to Rose's lips. "What happened?" she asked Galen, her tone just shy of being accusatory. "I am so sorry, Your Highness," Galen said, backing away. "I made her laugh, and–" "You made her laugh?" Violet's eyes widened. "She hasn't laughed in weeks!" She smiled at Galen and gave Rose's shoulders a little squeeze.

My tattoo is a cross, a rose and a shark. A cross is a cross, a rose like love and a shark is a pretty tough animal.

Don't try to force anything. Let life be a deep let-go. God opens millions of flowers everyday without forcing their buds

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.

How many thorns of human nature are bristling conceits, buds of promise grown sharp for want of congenial climate.

A rose can never be a sunflower, and a sunflower can never be a rose. All flowers are beautiful in their own way, and that's like woman too.

In my house, the Rose Parade and the Rose Bowl Game have always been a grand tradition for ringing in the New Year. To serve as Grand Marshal is a dream come true and I look forward to sharing the celebration with all of the fans and viewers worldwide.

You will find that your taste buds have a memory of about 3 weeks.

If we want to write, it makes sense to read—and to read like a writer. If we wanted to grow roses, we would want to visit rose gardens and try to see them the way that a rose gardener would.

Rose!" I looked to my right and saw Adrian cutting across the lawn toward me, oblivious to the slush's effects on his designer shoes. "Did you just call me 'Rose'?" I asked. "And not 'little dhampir'? I don't think that's ever happened." "It happens all the time," he countered, catching up to me.

Ah what avails the sceptred race, Ah what the form divine! What every virtue, every grace! Rose Aylmer, all were thine. Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes May weep, but never see, A night of memories and of sighs I consecrate to thee.

A red rose is not selfish because it wants to be a red rose. It would be horribly selfish if it wanted all the other flowers in the garden to be both red and roses.

Max Rose: Vo? What kind of name is that? Spader: What kind of name is Rose? Isn't that some kind of flower?

The garden rose may richly bloom In cultured soil and genial air, To cloud the light of Fashion's room Or droop in Beauty's midnight hair, In lonelier grace, to sun and dew The sweetbrier on the hillside shows Its single leaf and fainter hue, Untrained and wildly free, yet still a sister rose!

No,''he said.''I was a Strigoi. I was one of them. I did...terrible things.'' The words were mild, but the tone of his voice spoke legions. The radiant faces of his family turned sober.''I was lost. Beyond hope. Except...Rose believed in me. Rose never gave up.

I'm a perfectly good carrot that everyone is trying to turn into a rose. As a carrot, I have good color and a nice leafy top. When I'm carved into a rose, I turn brown and wither.

That was Sydney Sage," said Lissa. "I thought they were all in West Virginia. Why isn't she with Rose?" "That," said Abe darkly, "is an excellent question." "Because they were apparently kidnapping Jill Mastrano in Detroit," said Christian. "Which is weird. But not the craziest thing I can think of Rose doing.

I think that's why August [Wilson] named her Rose [in "Fences"]; I really do. She's a rose in her sweetness and her kindness and in everything else, even her anger towards the end.

Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory; Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heap'd for the belovèd's bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.

Does a rose exist that I might behold it? Or do I exist that a rose might be beheld?

The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within.

THE WILD ROSE” – BY WENDELL BERRY Sometimes, hidden from me in daily custom and in ritual I live by you unaware, as if by the beating of my heart. Suddenly you flare again in my sight A wild rose at the edge of the thicket where yesterday there was only shade And I am blessed and choose again, That which I chose before.