Wildflowers Quotes

Quotes tagged as "wildflowers" (showing 1-25 of 25)
Shannon L. Alder
“It is easier to tell a person what life is not, rather than to tell them what it is. A child understands weeds that grow from lack of attention, in a garden. However, it is hard to explain the wild flowers that one gardener calls weeds, and another considers beautiful ground cover.”
Shannon L. Alder

Rebecca Donovan
“I think I like wildflowers best," I explain. "They just grow wherever they want. No one has to plant them. And then their seeds blow in the wind and they find a new place to grow." (Richelle)”
Rebecca Donovan, What If

Rumi
“There are as many ways of loving as there are people, and that wildflower variety is the great beauty of this dimension of existence.”
Rumi

Melody  Lee
“Wildflowers can't be controlled, and neither can the girl with a soul boundless as the sky, and a spirit as free and wild as the ocean.”
Melody Lee, Moon Gypsy

“They are wildflowers. They would not want a name.”
Silas House & Neela Vaswani, Same Sun Here

“Wildflowers are the stuff of my heart!”
Lady Bird Johnson

Viola Shipman
“If I had to describe the scent of Michigan in spring and summer, it wouldn't be a
particular smell – blooming wildflowers or boat exhaust off the lake – it would be a color: Green.”
Viola Shipman, The Charm Bracelet

“The sky is a meadow of wildstar flowers.”
Ann Zwinger, Downcanyon: A Naturalist Explores the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon

“What a lonely place it would be to have a world without a wildflower!”
Roland R Kemler

Shannon  Mullen
“Even the tiniest of flowers can have the toughest roots.”
Shannon M Mullen, See What Flowers

Hazel Gaynor
“As her dreams intensified, the red-haired girl became so real to Olivia that she found herself absentmindedly sketching her image during the day, bringing her to life on the page. She drew her surrounded by the flowers she held in her hands- white harebell, pink campion, and yellow cinquefoil- entwining them into the curls in her hair, until the flowers and plants were not around her, but part of her. A true child of the woodland.”
Hazel Gaynor, The Cottingley Secret

“Wildflowers don't grow haphazardly us we are led to believe. They grow in fantastic patterns which are different to each of us you see.”
Anthony T.Hnicks

Susan Fenimore Cooper
“The arbutus is now open everywhere in the woods and groves. How pleasant it is to meet the same flowers year after year! If the blossoms were liable to change–if they were to become capricious and irregular–they might excite more surprise, more curiosity, but we should love them less; they might be just as bright, and gay, and fragrant under other forms, but they would not be the violets, and squirrel-cups, and ground laurels we loved last year. Whatever your roving fancies may say, there is a virtue in constancy which has a reward above all that fickle change can bestow, giving strength and purity to every affection of life, and even throwing additional grace about the flowers which bloom in our native fields. We admire the strange and brilliant plant of the green-house, but we love most the simple flowers we have loved of old, which have bloomed many a spring, through rain and sunshine, on our native soil.”
Susan Fenimore Cooper

Nithin Purple
“The early dew-falls that did a pristine coating,
over the woods with its finest transparency,
glazed as like its wet white-glassy earrings that hung on the ears of wild flowers—unlatched my fancy.”
Nithin Purple, Venus and Crepuscule: Beauty and Violence on Me Thrown

Chelsea Sedoti
“I didn't wave my daisy. I felt small, the way an ant must feel looking up at a field of wildflowers. I was nothing. I was trapped below flowers, buried under them, while girls like Lizzie Lovett danced overhead. That was life. We all have a place.”
Chelsea Sedoti, The Hundred Lies of Lizzie Lovett

Hazel Gaynor
“That was when I saw the first flash of emerald, then another of blue, then yellow, glimpsed out of the corner of my eye. Not dragonflies. Not butterflies. Something else. Something moving among a cluster of harebells, the delicate white flowers nodding as their petals and leaves were disturbed by the slightest of movements, like a gentle breeze blowing against them and yet there wasn't the slightest breath of wind at the beck that day.”
Hazel Gaynor, The Cottingley Secret

“Wildflowers aren't meant to be cut & tamed. They're meant to be loved & admired.”
Anthony T. Hincks

“On the following morning the little hut on the Alm opened wide its doors and windows as if to drink up the early sunshine. Days went by. The warmth of the spring sun woke up first the little blue gentians - those with a white star in the center; then, one by one, all the other lovely flowers opened their petals. There were jonquils and red primroses and little golden rockroses with thorns on the edge of their petals. They all bloomed in their brightest colors while Peter watched the miracle taking place, as he had watched it every spring since he could remember. He had never quite seen the beauty of it, however, until Heidi had come to show him.”
Charles Tritten, Heidi Grows Up

Hazel Gaynor
“That night, I fell into a deep, travel-weary sleep, lulled by the familiar sound of the waterfall beyond the window. I dreamed of the beck fairies, a blur of lavender and rose-pink and buttercup-yellow light, flitting across the glittering stream, beckoning me to follow them toward the woodland cottage. There, the little girl with flame-red hair picked daisies in the garden, threading them together to make a garland for her hair. She picked a posy of wildflowers- harebell, bindweed, campion, and bladderwort- and gave them to me.”
Hazel Gaynor, The Cottingley Secret

“May 27, 1941
Sunday we encountered specimens of the rarely appearing yellow lady's slipper. This orchis is fragilely beautiful. One tends to think of it almost as a phenomenon, without any roots or place in the natural world. And yet it, too, has had its tough old ancestors which have eluded fires and drought and freezes to pass on in this lovely form the boon of existence. If a plant so delicately lovely can at the same time be so toughly persistent and resistant to all natural enemies, can we doubt that hopes for a better an more rational world may not also withstand all assaults, be bequeathed from generation to generation, and come ultimately to flower?
President Roosevelt says he has not lost faith in democracy; nor have I lost faith in the transcendent potentialities of LIFE itself. One has but to look about him to become almost wildly imbued with something of the massive, surging vitality of the earth.”
Harvey Broome, Out Under Sky Of Great Smokies: A Personal Journal

Gerald Morris
“I should show you to Robin," Terence murmured. Then he closed his eyes.”
Gerald Morris, The Legend of the King

Liz Braswell
“The path remained steady for a time before dwindling down to dusty silt. The sky opened above as trees fell away on either side. To their right, the land dipped down into a tiny, almost impossibly beautiful valley. A stream ran through its lowest point, its bank lined in pink lupine. Before that, tall, dark green grass sparkled with white flashes in the sunlight. Late season dandelions and breathy, tiny white flowers on slender stems were avoided by bees, while purple thistles and asters thronged with them.
"I could do with a little bit of a break," she said, looking longingly at the soft, moss-covered braes above the tinkling water.
The prince made a big show of cautiously surveying the scene. Aurora Rose hid a smile. Nothing seemed harmful. "All right," he finally said. "My face could definitely do with a wash. Feels all dusty."
They stepped down into the quiet valley that smelled like all of summer crushed into a single flower.”
Liz Braswell, Once Upon a Dream

“Interlaken

Get a running start. Catch
a good wind, he said: Be a good

bird. I thought him German
as his hand did the wave––tumult

of syllables, the ocean. A gust carried us
from the top of a ridge to where land

helixes hug vague bodies
of water, pebbled pastures

skimming treelines across the range
littered with wildflowers. Winds lilted:

It’s not your day to go, as I watched
clouds blush vermillion, flying

in tandem as a crow does over
reservoirs and glacial gorges. That high

up, I thought maybe we could fall
in love, full of pomp and spectacle,

but he was a stranger, and to him, I was
strange; possibly ugly. Everyone

peddles timing––the random alchemy
of abutting molecules––though

I’ve grown weary of waiting. Stillness
is the danger. So I spread out

my arms, carved ciphers into ether
while a choir could be heard along

the nave where winding trails scissor
the basin. Spiraling downward,

I mouthed a new prayer, knelt in air
for deliverance, morphing into needle

of a compass, unbeholden to a place
inhospitable: the mind. The mind bent

on forgetting: I was blown wide open.”
Su Hwang

Hazel Gaynor
“As I followed Elsie back along the riverbank, I brushed my fingertips against the silky catkins on the willow trees and wished Daddy had failed the medical examination too. I stopped now and then to collect interesting-looking pebbles that clacked together satisfyingly in my pockets, and to pick the pretty wildflowers: stitchwort and ragwort, silverweed and harebell, lady's purse and cinquefoil. Elsie told me their names. As we walked, I repeated them over and over so I wouldn't forget them, storing them away like precious gems to admire again later, in private.”
Hazel Gaynor, The Cottingley Secret

Betty MacDonald
“On either side the wild roses, their pink dewy faces turned to the sun, tumbled over the fences, sprawled on the ground and filled the air with their pure summery smell.”
Betty MacDonald, Nancy and Plum