“My heart is a wild flower.”

The world moves in circles.

Every fire needs air to breathe.

You are not your emotions.

Stay wherever you find hope.

Go where the energy flows.

I see your face in every sunset.

Kindness always comes back.

Giving is the greatest gift.

Illusions can be changed.

Your madness is your map follow it.

Not all flowers bloom in April.

There is no end to your light.

Allow your softest sides to show.

Your patience is your power.

Brokenness is a beginning.

All waves eventually pass.

Pick the weeds and keep the flowers.

I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.

Words of praise, indeed, are almost as necessary to warm a child into a genial life as acts of kindness and affection. Judicious praise is to children what the sun is to flowers.

Pleasures are like poppies spread: You seize the flow’r, its bloom is shed.

She is December with imprinting traces of love daises on white canvas of life.

Love proves itself by deeds, so how am I to show my love? Great deeds are forbidden me. The only way I can prove my love is by scattering flowers and these flowers are every little sacrifice, every glance and word, and the doing of the least actions for love.

As our Father makes many a flower to bloom unseen in the lonely desert, [let us] do all that we can do, as under God’s eye, though no other eye ever take note of it.

She bathed with roses red, And violets blew. And all the sweetest flowers That in the forest grew.