Black Rose Quotes

#1. Black rose, black rose
Who's gonna be your only one?
Who's gonna keep you safe and warm?
Run, run my baby black rose
I'm gonna find you home.

P.M. Highlanders

#2. And offers me a black rose.
"I figured you'd hate flowers, so I decided to get one that matched your soul" He says. I take the flower, careful not to touch any of his long finger.

Sara Wolf

#3. When the whistling-thrush released
A deep sweet secret on the trembling air;
Blackbird on the wing, bird of the forest shadows,
Black rose in the long ago summer,
This was your song:
It isn't time that's passing by,
It is you and I.

Ruskin Bond

#4. Case turned back, in time to catch the briefest flash of a black rose, its petals sheened like leather, the black stem thorned with bright chrome.

William Gibson

#5. There's a black rose growing in your garden.

H.D.

#6. She was my black rose, a broken angel I could hug and drift away with into peaceful oblivion.

Jess C. Scott

#7. The snow-white angel alone remains, hovering over Tara Burgess's fresh grave, holding a single black rose in one hand. She does not move, does not even bat an eyelash. Her powdered face stays frozen in sorrow. The increasing rain pulls stray feathers from her wings and pins them to the mud below.

Erin Morgenstern

#8. I told you I wouldn't forget you...and as I'm sure you remember, the black rose is you.

Karen E. Taylor

#9. But when they brought Sabira out, the crowd parted almost magically. A sea of hands rose faster than a swell and a bidding war commenced, amongst these civilized gentlemen who made their living off the backs of slaves.

Jay Grewal

#10. Then the whole range, much nearer now, paled into fresh splendor; a full moon rose, touching each peak in succession like some celestial lamplighter, until the long horizon glittered against a blue-black sky.

James Hilton

#11. If you can write, you can read. And if you can read, you can better understand the world and its different societies. Knowledge is the key to destroying prejudice and individual hate, which always culminates in violence against the innocent.

The Black Rose

#12. The clothes chosen for me as a child had a strong element of the Pre-Raphaelite, muted greens and ivories, dusty rose, what seems in retrospect an eccentric amount of black.

Joan Didion

#13. A Halloween flower,
if ever there was one,
would smell like an onion,
have thorns like a rose.
With charcoal black petals
and vines that entangle,
t'would grow under moonlight
in mud, I suppose.

Richelle E. Goodrich

#14. Patience. I colored patience gray, hung over with black clouds. I colored hope yellow, just like the sun we could see for a few short morning hours. Too soon the sun rose high in the sky & disappeared from view, leaving us bereft and staring at blue.

V.C. Andrews

#15. I remember seeing 'Snow White' and saying to my mother, 'Will there ever be a Chocolate Brown?' She said 'Probably. Why not?' I just never thought the first black princess would be me.

Anika Noni Rose

#16. I was up watching Meet Joe Black at four AM. I was hoping Brad Pitt would die, and he was still alive at seven forty in the morning! I actually felt sorry for once, for critics.

Rose McGowan

#17. Clouds of black birds rose up wailing and screaming, like the thoughts of my heart.

Mary Renault

#18. Out of the black cave of time, terrible and swathed in scarlet, rose the image of his sin.

Oscar Wilde

#19. Suddenly the black torturer laid down the pipes and rose, towering over the writhing white figure.

Robert E. Howard

#20. Not everything in life is black and white. Sometimes the best parts are gray. Just remember that not everything can fit into one your neat little boxes.

Alyssa Rose Ivy

#21. I have carried that ring every moment of the last twelve years. I bought it the day after I first saw you at the ball. The ruby reminded me of the rose gleaming in your black hair."
~Lord Malcom Ashford

Celeste Bradley

#22. That's what happens when stars stop fusing hydrogen into helium. They lose their helium, become too heavy, and then fall through the spacetime fabric, leaving the black hole behind them.

Diana Rose

#23. The pink sun tumbled from the sky like a shooting star, turning day to night in the space of a trembling breath. What rose in its place was a moon made of rotting meat, its vast surface pitted with crawling black mold, glowing in a starless sky.

Craig Schaefer

#24. Recai's hold on sanity shattered as he peered into the same two black eyes that had mocked him as Rebekah lay bleeding across his lap.
A scream rose into the night, competing with the sky for the very ear of God.

Pavarti K. Tyler

#25. She took the delicate cups from his hands and filled them with the loose black

Amelia Rose

#26. Belt leather. Black pepper. Fine lace and bright feather. Tinker in town tonight, gone tomorrow. Working through the evening light. Come wife. Come daughter, I've small cloth and rose water.

Patrick Rothfuss

#27. And motioned me toward a spot next to a middle-aged Moroi in a very formal and very designer black suit. The suit screamed, I'm sorry the queen is dead, and I'm going to look fashionable while showing my grief

Richelle Mead

#28. Only forest fires produce more black carbon than bunker fuel. Bunker fuel can have a sulfur content of up to 45,000 parts per million (ppm). Low-sulfur diesel for cars is supposed to contain 10 ppm. The sulfur is converted into acid

Rose George

#29. I like to dominate powerful men..Black men aren't good at oral $ex

Amber Rose

#30. While the black coal rose jutting round them, and the props of wood stood like little pillars in the low, black, very dark temple.

D.H. Lawrence

#31. Smiles are to people as sunshine is to the roses.

Tom Black

#32. I let his rose wither in a vase on my desk, a vase painfully empty of flowers since the long-ago time when, on my birthday, Mario would give me a cattleya, in imitation of Swann. In the evening the flower was already black and bent on its stem. I threw it in the trash.

Elena Ferrante

#33. It was a hurting tune, resigned, a cry of heartache for all in the world that fell apart. As ash rose black against the brilliant sky, Fire's fiddle cried out for the dead, and for the living who stay behind to say goodbye.

Kristin Cashore

#34. I Hated Duke. I Felt Like They Only Recruited Black Players That Were Uncle Toms.

Jalen Rose

#35. It was night and I could see a large and calm lake, reflecting the moon. Black mountains rose around it. I arrived from between two of these mountains, I looked at the lake and the moon, and that was it, nothing else happened.

Georges Simenon

#36. I thought of how proud he was when he took the marks- cutting the skin of his throat in a long slash and then packing it with ashes until keloid scars rose up.
He called it his second smile.

Holly Black

#37. From the other side of the hill, two enormous black wings appeared through the mist. Then a pair of sharp, twisted horns. Slowly, Maleficent rose into the air, looking like a creature from hell. Behind her, there was only mist. No army of her own. No faeries or creatures. Just Maleficent.

Elizabeth Rudnick

#38. Jealousy can open the blood, it can make black roses.

Sylvia Plath

#39. Oh the irony life sometimes throws our way. It's almost like fate plays a sadistic joke on us just because she's in a mood that day - fickle bitch that she is.

Suzanne Steele

#40. He cupped her face lightly in his hands, and gravity seemed to draw them together, like light towards a black hole.

Frankie Rose

#41. Soon, they actually began to titter on their toes as they glared at me, looking more like an army of angry wasps than ever before. All they needed now were matching yellow and black jumpers and pretend stingers!

Adele Rose

#42. A song she heard
Of cold that gathers
Like winter's tongue
Among the shadows
It rose like blackness
In the sky
That on volcano's
Vomit rise
A Stone of ruin
From burn to chill
Like black moonrise
Her voice fell still ...

Robert Fanney

#43. But the only thing worse than remembering the feel of Rose in his arms, the softness of her black and white feathers, the sound of her voice when she sang quietly to herself, would be forgetting it.

Melissa Grey

#44. Once a blooming red rose, full of streaming life in its veins.
Now a wilting black petal rupturing with death and pain.

Jessica Sorensen

#45. In the cups, one after another, glistening disks rose, black without translucence.

Samuel R. Delany

#46. Like a black pirate flag on the blue ocean of air, a hawk hung ominous; then, plummet-wise, dropped to the hedgerow, whence there rose, thin and shrill, a piteous voice of squealing. By

Kenneth Grahame

#47. You might be the matched half to me. The white to my black.

Renee Rose

#48. Runes, runes, runes ... Runes. An inverted Algiz rune. The caption next to it said "Chernobog." The Black God. Right. Of course, it wouldn't be Chernobog, God of Morning Dew on the Rose Petals, but a woman could always hope.

Ilona Andrews

#49. She looks like a fucking wet dream sitting on that bike. Her legs are covered in tight denim with black boots laced up to mid-calf. She has a leather jacket on and it's zipped up half way, showing off a good amount of cleavage.

Aurora Rose Reynolds

#50. Designing bridal is perfect for me, because black is my least favorite color, if you could call it a color.

Lela Rose

#51. The Black Death announces itself by the appearance of foul, egg-sized swellings that erupt on the bodies of its victims, followed by spreading boils and hideous discolorations of the skin. So excruciating is the pain that death, when it comes, is a mercy.
-The Book of the Eternal Rose

Fiona Paul

#52. You know why Guns n' Roses aren't a good band? Because no black people listen to them.

Anton Newcombe

#53. Let's just say if karma's a bitch...
I'm her bastard of a brother.

Suzanne Steele

#54. It was a haunting tune, unresigned, a cry of heartache for all in the world that fell apart. As ash rose black against the brilliant sky, Fire's fiddle cried out for the dead, and for the living who stay behind and say goodbye.

Kristin Cashore

#55. Looking back on my 50-year eclectic journey in research, I am grateful that it has gone as well as it has, although still not clever enough to open the black box of enzyme structure.

Irwin Rose

#56. Back in the 1970s, Kodak tried to give $25m to a black civil rights organisation in Rochester, New York. The company's shareholders rose up in arms: making this politically charged offering wasn't the reason they had entrusted Kodak with their money. The donation was withdrawn.

Noreena Hertz

#57. The whole street took part in the serenade to Flor, Flor leaning against her high window, all ruffles and lace, drenched in moonlight. Down below Vadinho, her gallant knight, with the red rose in his hand, so red it was almost black, the rose of her love.

Jorge Amado