“I am not the rose, but I have lived near the rose.”

People can die of mere imagination.

In the stars is written the death of every man.

And so it is in politics, dear brother, Each for himself alone, there is no other.

We little know the things for which we pray.

For out of old fields, as men saith, Cometh all this new corn from year to year; And out of old books, in good faith, Cometh all this new science that men learn.

Patience is a conquering virtue. The learned say that, if it not desert you, It vanquishes what force can never reach; Why answer back at every angry speech? No, learn forbearance or, I’ll tell you what, You will be taught it, whether you will or not.

In love there is but little rest.

And gladly would he learn and gladly teach.

Full wise is he that can himself know.

Death is the end of every worldly pain.

Mercy surpasses justice.

All good things must come to an end.

That field hath eyen, and the wood hath ears.

Make a virtue of necessity.

Great peace is found in little busy-ness.

Time lost, as men may see, For nothing may recovered be.

All the flowers in my house dried up and died, maybe because only they have seen me when nobody is around.

To see her smile is to look at all the flowers of the world blossoming at once.

I know April showers are meant to bring May flowers but what if the rain doesn’t slow down and all the flowers just drown.

Even the prettiest rose wilts.

I never understood flowers until I met you.

My flower’s roots glue me down among the wet soil in which the thunder has stunned my growth. Maybe I’ve already grown through the storms and the sun is delayed in its rising.

Flowers fall down to blossom new, so do you!

A rose with her thorns is still a rose.