#roses

Did you hear about the rose that grew from a crack in the concrete? Proving nature's laws wrong, it learned to walk without having feet. Funny, it seems to by keeping it's dreams; it learned to breathe fresh air. Long live the rose that grew from concrete when no one else even cared. ↗

— Tupac Shakur

#concrete #dreams #hardship #persistence #roses

Women Are Not Roses Women have no beginning only continual flows. Though rivers flow women are not rivers. Women are not roses they are not oceans or stars. i would like to tell her this but i think she already knows. ↗

— Ana Castillo

#poetry #roses #strength #beauty

Princess,” he whispered against her ear. “My beautiful, beautiful princess. I want to spoil you. Pamper you. Indulge you. ↗

— Teresa Medeiros

#roses #sabrina #teresa-medeiros #whisper #beauty

I believe in roses. And I believe in putting roses into a vase and sitting the vase on the table. I believe in getting lost and being found, I believe in going barefoot, and in laughter! My religion is to laugh at myself, whenever I can! I believe in the sunlight and in grey skies with big, beautiful clouds! ↗

— C. JoyBell C.

#believing-in-beauty #going-barefoot #happiness #inspirational-quotes #laughter

Rosa que al prado, encarnada, te ostentas presuntuosa de grana y carmín bañada: campa lozana y gustosa; pero no, que siendo hermosa tambien serás desdichada. ↗

— Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz

#roses #unhappiness #beauty

It seems strange that my life should end in such a terrible place, but for three years I had roses, and apologized to no one. ↗

— Alan Moore

#roses #life

I began to turn my body, but he held me and laid me back onto the bed, insistently, kissing my breasts but not lingering, kissing a line down my stomach and lower. “You want me to prove to you that I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life, Roses. Is that true, aye? Because I just can’t take this anymore.” I gasped as he licked into my sensitive flesh, wetting me with his soft strokes, speaking soft words against my skin. “If you insist on doubting me, Roses, if you absolutely insist on breaking down every defense that I have with your tears and your plush, wet, ripe beauty, then that’s what I’ll have to do, lass. Is that what you want from me? Proof?” I could only sigh a soft response, already falling, burning, wanting too much. ↗

— Juliette Miller

#juliette-miller #roses #wilkie #beauty

You do not seem to realize that beauty is a liability rather than an asset - that in view of the fact that spirit creates form we are justified in supposing that you must have brains. For you, a symbol of the unit, stiff and sharp, conscious of surpassing by dint of native superiority and liking for everything self-dependent, anything an ambitious civilization might produce: for you, unaided, to attempt through sheer reserve, to confuse presumptions resulting from observation, is idle. You cannot make us think you a delightful happen-so. But rose, if you are brilliant, it is not because your petals are the without-which-nothing of pre-eminence. Would you not, minus thorns, be a what-is-this, a mere perculiarity? They are not proof against a worm, the elements, or mildew; but what about the predatory hand? What is brilliance without co-ordination? Guarding the infinitesimal pieces of your mind, compelling audience to the remark that it is better to be forgotten than to be re- membered too violently, your thorns are the best part of you. ↗

— Marianne Moore

#poem #roses-only #beauty