She wore flowers in her hair and carried magic secrets in her eyes. She spoke to no one. She spent hours on the riverbank. She smoked cigarettes and had midnight swims...

I like movies that keep me guessing until the end. I always guess flowers, because no matter what type of movie, whether romance, mystery, or horror, nobody suspects the flowers.

The sun, rising and setting in splendid colors, never grows tired of its admirers―much like a lady, aglow with grace, never grows tired of chivalrous acts or pretty flowers.

I look at everything. God gave me eyes and I look at women and men and subway excavations and moving pictures and the little flowers of the field. I casually inspect the universe.

In emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue and white;Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery,Buckled below fair knighthood's bending knee;Fairies use flower for their charactery.

Moss is selected to be the emblem of maternal love, because, like that love, it glads the heart when the winter of adversity overtakes us, and when summer friends have deserted us.

Feathers blowing in the wind is no more a bird than a pile of crumpled up receipts from champagne, chocolate, and flower purchases is a true indication that a man loves a woman.


Daffy bent down suddenly, and picked a small startled white flower. "Anemone," he said, handing it over; he made her repeat the word until she had it right. "Find me a silk to match that.

The calla lilies are in bloom again. Such a strange flower—suitable to any occasion. I carried them on my wedding day, and now I place them here in memory of something that has died.

Lodged"The rain to the wind said,'You push and I'll pelt.'They so smote the garden bed.That the flowers actually knelt,And lay lodged -- though not dead.I know how the flowers felt.

Trees were not hard, irritable things, but discreetly orgasmic beings moaning at a level too deep for our brutish ears. And flowers were quick explosive orgasms, like making love in the shower.

Her dad died unexpectedly, so I hid the flowers, because flowers are reminders of spring and life, and also of headstones and death. Also, I hid the flowers because they were for another woman.

I had a dream about you. The flowers were blooming, but our love was wilting. I tried to water our relationship, but no matter what I did, you were insistent on leaving me for a gardener.


a flower knows, when its butterfly will return, and if the moon walks out, the sky will understand;but now it hurts, to watch you leave so soon,when I don't know, if you will ever come back.

The sun is a flower, and it burns my goddamn nostrils like the scent of love, which I haven’t tasted since I put on my midnight-black blindfold. I’m just naturally romantic, I guess.