White Rose Quotes

• Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose.
  For whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed.

  William Shakespeare

  Sweet, Flower, Air

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• The red rose whispers of passion,
  And the white rose breathes of love;
  O, the red rose is a falcon,
  And the white rose is a dove.

  John Boyle O'Reilly

  Flower, Passion, White

  John Boyle O'Reilly, Liam Barry (1994). “Selected poems, speeches, dedications and letters of John Boyle O'Reilly, 1844-1890”

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• There has fallen a splendid tear
  From the passion-flower at the gate.
  She is coming, my dove, my dear;
  She is coming, my life, my fate;
  The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near;"
  And the white rose weeps, "She is late;"
  The larkspur listens, "I hear; I hear;"
  And the lily whispers, "I wait."

  Alfred Lord Tennyson

  Life, Flower, Passion

  'Maud' (1855) pt. 1, sect. 22, st. 10

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• Just remember, during the winter, far beneath the bitter snow, that there's a seed that with the sun's love in the spring becomes a rose.

  Bette Midler

  Primavera, invierno, nieve

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• White rose in red rose-garden Is not so white; Snowdrops, that plead for pardon And pine for fright Because the hard East blows Over their maiden vows, Grow not as this face grows from pale to bright.

  Algernon Charles Swinburne

  Blow, Garden, White

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• Siempre que tengo un problema, pido a la Santa (Teresa de Lisieux) no que lo resuelva, sino que lo tome en sus manos y me ayude a aceptarlo y casi siempre recibo una rosa blanca como señal.

  Pope Francis

  Hands, White, Rose

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• No hay nada más difícil para un pintor verdaderamente creativo que pintar una rosa, porque antes tiene que olvidar todas las rosas que ha pintado.

  Henri Matisse

  Art, Flower, Rose

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• I can't have white roses. They symbolize death.

  Nina Arianda

  White, Rose, I Can

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• Don't cry, you crybaby! When you think things are hard, that's the time you are maturing as a person. If you get over the darkness, a wonderful new day will come. The bright morning will be filled with light and the birds will be singing . There'll be white roses with a lovely fragrance.

  Aya Kito

  Morning, Thinking, White

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• It's there. The white rose among the dried flowers in the vase. Shriveled and fragile, but holding on to that unnatural perfection cultivated in Snows greenhouse. I grab the vase, stumble down to the kitchen, and throw its contents into the embers. As the flowers flare up, a burst of blue flame envelops the rose and devours it. Fire beats roses again.

  Suzanne Collins

  Flower, Fire, Blue

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• then, as though it had been waiting on a near by roof for their arrival, the moon came slanting suddenly through the vines and turned the girl's face the color of white roses.

  F. Scott Fitzgerald

  Girl, Moon, Color

  F. Scott Fitzgerald (2015). “The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald: Novels, Short Stories, Poetry, Articles, Letters, Plays & Screenplays: From the author of The Great Gatsby, The Side of Paradise, Tender Is the Night, The Beautiful and Damned, The Love of the Last Tycoon, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and many other notable works”, p.753, e-artnow

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• Desde que el Beato Alan de la Roche restableció esta devoción, la voz del pueblo, que es la voz de Dios, la llamó Rosario. La palabra Rosario significa "Corona de Rosas", es decir, que cada vez que el pueblo reza devotamente el Rosario coloca sobre las cabezas de Jesús y María una corona de ciento cincuenta y tres rosas rojas y dieciséis rosas blancas. Al ser flores celestiales, estas rosas nunca se marchitarán ni perderán su exquisita belleza.

  Luis de Montfort

  Jesus, Flower, Blessed

  St. Louis de Montfort (1983). “The Secret of the Rosary”, p.27, TAN Books

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• I'm not sure there are enough white roses in the world to make me forget Richard." I held up my hand before she could interrupt. "But I'm not sure there are enough cozy afternoons in all eternity to make me forget Jean-Claude.

  Laurell K. Hamilton

  Hands, White, Rose

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• I think Oscar Wilde wrote a poem about a robin who loved a white rose. He loved it so much that he pierced his breast and let his heart's blood turn the white rose red. Maybe this sounds very sentimental, but for anybody who has loved a career as much as I've loved mine, there can be no short cuts.

  Mary Pickford

  Corazón, Corte, Pensamiento

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• And as to you Death, and you bitter hug of mortality, it is idle to try to alarm me.... And as to you corpse, I think you are good manure, but that does not offend me, I smell the white roses sweet-scented and growing, I reach to the leafy lips — I reach to the polished breasts of melons. And as to you life, I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths, No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.

  Walt Whitman

  Death, Sweet, Thinking

  Walt Whitman, “Song Of Myself, XLIX”

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• Cultivo una rosa blanca, En julio como en enero, Para el amigo sincero Que me da su mano franca. Y para el cruel que me arranca El corazon con que vivo, Cardo ni oruga cultivo Cultivo una rosa blanca. I have a white rose to tend In July as in January; I give it to the true friend Who offers his frank hand to me. And to the cruel one whose blows Break the heart by which I live, Thistle nor thorn do I give: For him, too, I have a white rose.

  José Martí

  True Friend, Heart, Blow

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• Whether I'm making a recipe or a piece of jewelry or a white-rose-and-jasmine tea or the perfume, I like to think of myself as a happy little sorceress, and if I could just have a little general store with all that stuff and give people a sense of my taste, that would be lovely.

  Padma Lakshmi

  Thinking, White, Giving

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• Who among us has any conception of the dimensions of shame that will befall us and our children when one day the veil has fallen from our eyes and the most horrible of crimes...reach the light of day?

  Hans Scholl

  Niños, Ojo, Luz

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• Will se sentó donde estaba, contemplando el cuenco de plata que tenía delante; una rosa blanca flotaba en él, y parecía dispuesto a mirarla fijamente hasta que se hundiera. En la cocina, Bridget seguía cantando una de sus horribles canciones tristes; la letra entraba por la puerta: "Una noche que iba a tomar el aire, oí a una criada quejarse; dijo: '¿Viste a mi padre? ¿O a mi madre? ¿O visteis a mi hermano Juan? ¿O visteis al muchacho que más quiero, y que se llama Dulce William?" Podría asesinarla, pensó Tessa. Que haga una canción sobre eso.

  Cassandra Clare

  Madre, Dulce, Canción

  Cassandra Clare (2013). "Clockwork Prince", p.494, Simon and Schuster.

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