Daffodils Quotes

“She turned to the sunlight
    And shook her yellow head,
And whispered to her neighbor:
    "Winter is dead.”
― A.A. Milne, When We Were Very Young

“I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.”
― William Wordsworth, I Wander'd Lonely as a Cloud

“i have laughed
more than daffodils
and cried more than June.”
― Sanober Khan

“We need not be afraid of second-guessing our firm convictions or our holy truths because they often look like dazzling poppies or scented daffodils wilting after a while as if they had never existed. (“Measuring space”)”
― Erik Pevernagie

“When we decide to quit the treadmill and understand how and when we must let loose, we can breathe the air of inner freedom and scent the fragrance of the daffodils in the garden of our dreams”
― Erik Pevernagie, Stilling our Mind

“Daffodowndilly

She wore her yellow sun-bonnet,
She wore her greenest gown;
She turned to the south wind
And curtsied up and down.
She turned to the sunlight
And shook her yellow head,
And whispered to her neighbor:
"Winter is dead.”
― A.A. Milne, When We Were Very Young

“I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills
When all at once I saw a crowd
A host of golden daffodils
Beside the lake beneath the trees
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.”
― William Wordsworth, I Wander'd Lonely as a Cloud

“Daffodils are an optimistic flower, and foolproof. You know what Shakespeare said:
"Daffodils,
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty."

...I plant them in big clumps with a trusty shovel. I make several large holes all around and put quite a few in. That's why it makes such a spectacular look when they bloom.”
― Tasha Tudor, The Private World of Tasha Tudor

“A daffodil bulb will divide and redivide endlessly. That's why, like the peony, it is one of the few flowers you can find around abandoned farmhouses, still blooming and increasing in numbers fifty years after the farmer and his wife have moved to heaven, or the other place, Boca Raton. If you dig up a clump when no one is nearby and there is no danger of being shot, you'll find that there are scores of little bulbs in each clump, the progeny of a dozen or so planted by the farmer's wife in 1942. If you take these home, separate them, and plant them in your own yard, within a couple of years, you'll have a hundred daffodils for the mere price of a trespassing fine or imprisonment or both. I had this adventure once, and I consider it one of the great cheap thrills of my gardening career. I am not advocating trespassing, especially on my property, but there is no law against having a shovel in the trunk of your car.”
― Cassandra Danz, Mrs. Greenthumbs: How I Turned a Boring Yard Into a Glorious Garden and How You Can, Too

“Like daffodils in the early days of spring, my neurons were resprouting receptors as the winter of the illness ebbed.”
― Susannah Cahalan, Brain on Fire: My Month of Madness

“She had a beautiful laugh which was like rain water pouring over daffodils made from silver.”
― Richard Brautigan, Sombrero Fallout

“Daffodils are yellow trumpets of spring”
― Richard L. Ratliff

“They can fly and they howl, they slaughter depression and headaches, they daydream like gangbanging daffodils, orchids and cherry blossoms grasping mauve toffee clouds, they breastfeed laughter.”
― Laura Gentile, Seraphic Addiction

“For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.”
― William Wordsworth, I Wander'd Lonely as a Cloud

“I was then at the height of my two-facedness: that is, outside I seemed one way, inside I was another; outside false, inside true. And so I made pleasant little noises that showed both modesty and appreciation, but inside I was making a vow to erase from my mind, line by line, every word of that poem.”
― Jamaica Kincaid, Lucy

“February Soup by Stewart Stafford

The February fog,
Turns all into blobs,
Orange street lights,
To Valentine's Night.

When the wind strays,
Fog's mantle is grey,
Laying misty bouquets,
On barren, muddied days.

The daffodils of March,
Can cheer up Plutarch,
Adorned in Kelly green,
No sign of foggy screens.

© Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“On the night that she'd been brought here she'd had the idea that the abbey was closed in by trees. Now she could see that a little green stood on the other side of the gravel drive. Yellow flowers were in bloom here as well- a veritable carpet of them.
She walked across the drive, heading toward the flowers.
Daffodils. They were daffodils, thousands of them. Iris knelt in the grass and inhaled the faint perfume. A breeze passed by and all the bright-yellow trumpets nodded as one. How could this be? Had someone patiently planted each bulb?
But no. The daffodils weren't in soldierly rows. They bloomed in drifts and clumps. They must be wild.
She drew in her breath in wonder. How amazing that such beautiful ephemeral things could bloom here in this house of death and decay.
But perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps the abbey wasn't dying.
Perhaps it merely waited, sleeping, for joy and life to return to it.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“It was spring and they stood on the banks of the small river that ran beside the ruins of the old cathedral at Dyemore Abbey. The stone arch rose into a clear, blue sky and below, the scattered stones that had once made up the cathedral were carpeted with yellow. Hundreds of thousands of daffodils, wild in this part of England, had taken over the old ruins and made a home for themselves. The view was gorgeous. The daffodils rolled in a yellow-dotted wave right up to the stream itself and splashed over onto the opposite bank, disappearing into the little wood there.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire

“A moss-covered path tended its way around the magnolia tree. Mark started along it, his leg brushing against the perennial border where cheerful yellow daffodils nodded their heads in greeting.”
― Ellen Read, Love The Gift

“It's as if what was to come was already laid out before us, that our fate lay in the geography toward which we were blithely driving.”
― Natasha Trethewey, Beyond Katrina: A Meditation on the Mississippi Gulf Coast