If all flowers wanted to be roses, nature would lose her springtime beauty and the fields would no longer be decked out with little wildflowers.

I will send a shower of roses

The splendor of the rose and the whiteness of the lily do not rob the little violet of it’s scent nor the daisy of its simple charm. If every tiny flower wanted to be a rose, spring would lose its loveliness.

An idealist is one who, on noticing that a rose smells better than a cabbage, concludes that it makes a better soup.

I have a faithful joy and a joy that is lost. One is like a rose, the other, a thorn. The one that was stolen I have not lost.

Do you know out of what the German Empire arose? Out of dreams, songs, fantasies and black-red-gold ribbons? Bismarck merely shook the tree that fantasies had planted.

I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he who is not afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses.

When roses cease to bloom, dear, And violets are done.

I once had a rose named after me and I was very flattered. But I was not pleased to read the description in the catalogue: no good in a bed, but fine up against a wall.

Let him only see the thorns who has eyes to see the rose.

We are like roses that have never bothered to bloom when we should have bloomed and it is as if the sun has become disgusted with waiting

I’m the rose that came from the concrete

I’m the rose that came from concrete

It will never rain roses: when we want to have more roses we must plant more trees.

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

And she was fair as is the rose in May.

The extraordinary mystique of hers made you think she lived on rose petals and listened to nothing but Mozart, but it wasn’t true. She was quite funny and ribald. She could tell a dirty joke. She played charades with a great sense of fun and vulgarity, and she could be quite bitchy.

No rose without a thorn but many a thorn without a rose

There are roses in between my thighs and fire that surrounds you.