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Flowers are God’s thoughts of beauty taking form to gladden moral gze.
Lovely flowers are the smiles of God’s goodness.
Flowers are the sweetest things that God ever made and forgot to put a soul into.
What a desolate place would be a world without flowers? It would be a face without a smile; a feast without a welcome. Are not flowers the stars of the earth? And are not our stars the flowers of heaven?
To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
What a pity flowers can utter no sound? A singing rose, a whispering violet, a murmuring honeysuckle, oh, what a rare and exquisite miracle would these be!.
The flowers are nature’s jewels, with whose wealth she decks her summer beauty.
The instinctive and universal taste of mankind selects flowers for the expression of its finest sympathies, their beauty and fleetingness serving to make them the most fitting symbols of those delicate sentiments for which language seems almost too gross a medium.
Flowers are love’s truest language.
To analyze the charms of flowers is like dissecting music; it is one of those things which it is far better to enjoy, than to attempt fully to understand.
In eastern lands they talk in flowers, and tell in a garland their loves and cares.
How the universal heart of man blesses flowers! They are wreathed round the cradle, the marriage altar, and the tomb. They should deck the brow of the youthful bride, for they are in themselves a lovely type of marriage. They should twine round the tomb, for their perpetually renewed beauty is a symbol of the resurrection. They should festoon the alter, for their fragrance and beauty ascend in perpetual worship before the most high.
It is with flowers as with morel qualities; the bright are sometimes poisonous, but I believe never the sweet.
Your voiceless lips, O, flowers are living preachers each cup a pulpit, and each leaf a book.
Stars of earth, these golden flowers; emblems of our own great resurrection; emblems of the bright and better land.
Every rose is an autograph from the hand of God on his world about us. He has inscribed his thoughts in these marvelous hieroglyphics which sense and science have, these many thousand years, been seeing to understand.
A passion for flowers, is, I think, the only one which long sickness leaves untouched with its chilling influence.
To cultivate a garden is to walk with God.
Bovee.
There is not the least flower but seems to hold up its head and to look pleasantly, in the secret sense of the goodness of its heavenly Maker.
Flowers are God’s thoughts of beauty, taking form to gladden mortal gaze; bright gems of earth, in which, perchance, we see what Eden was what Paradise may be!
Lovely flowers are the smiles of God’s goodness.
Wilberforce.
Flowers are the sweetest things that God ever made and forgot to put a soul into.
H.W. Beecher.
What a desolate place would be a world without flowers? It would be a face without a smile; a feast without a welcome. Are not flowers the stars of the earth? And are not our stars the flowers of heaven?
Mrs. Balfour.
To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
Wordsworth.
What a pity flowers can utter no sound? A singing rose, a whispering violet, a murmuring honeysuckle, oh, what a rare and exquisite miracle would these be!.
H.W. Beecher.
The flowers are nature’s jewels, with whose wealth she decks her summer beauty.
Croly.
The instinctive and universal taste of mankind selects flowers for the expression of its finest sympathies, their beauty and fleetingness serving to make them the most fitting symbols of those delicate sentiments for which language seems almost too gross a medium.
Hillard.
Flowers are love’s truest language.
P.Benjamin.
To analyze the charms of flowers is like dissecting music; it is one of those things which it is far better to enjoy, than to attempt fully to understand.
Tuckerman.
In eastern lands they talk in flowers, and tell in a garland their loves and cares.
Percival.
How the universal heart of man blesses flowers! They are wreathed round the cradle, the marriage altar, and the tomb. They should deck the brow of the youthful bride, for they are in themselves a lovely type of marriage. They should twine round the tomb, for their perpetually renewed beauty is a symbol of the resurrection. They should festoon the alter, for their fragrance and beauty ascend in perpetual worship before the most high.
Mrs. L.M. Child.
It is with flowers as with morel qualities; the bright are sometimes poisonous, but I believe never the sweet.
Hare.
Your voiceless lips, O, flowers are living preachers each cup a pulpit, and each leaf a book.
Horace Smith.
Stars of earth, these golden flowers; emblems of our own great resurrection; emblems of the bright and better land.
Longfellow.
Every rose is an autograph from the hand of God on his world about us. He has inscribed his thoughts in these marvelous hieroglyphics which sense and science have, these many thousand years, been seeing to understand.
Theodore Parker.
A passion for flowers, is, I think, the only one which long sickness leaves untouched with its chilling influence.
Mrs. Hemans.
To cultivate a garden is to walk with God.
Bovee.
There is not the least flower but seems to hold up its head and to look pleasantly, in the secret sense of the goodness of its heavenly Maker.
South.
Flowers are God’s thoughts of beauty, taking form to gladden mortal gaze; bright gems of earth, in which, perchance, we see what Eden was what Paradise may be!
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