Quotes About White Roses

#1. I can't have white roses. They symbolize death.

Nina Arianda

#2. So, the white roses and the "He's just yelling at you because he knows you're the best. Don't let him get to you," note that was on the hood of my car today wasn't from you?" I hung up.

Whitney Gracia Williams

#3. 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

#4. My mother had painted the white roses red and now she claimed they grew that way.

Jeanette Winterson

#5. 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

#6. And now, a heap of roses
beside the sea, white rugosa
beside the foaming hem of shore:
brave,
waxen candles ...
And we talk
as if death were a line to be crossed.
Look at them, the white roses.
Tell me where they end.

Mark Doty

#7. Your scented tears on white roses - Love is crying in a good way.

Kristian Goldmund Aumann

#8. 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

#9. Someone heroic and valiant, not merely skilled in speech; someone who is kind and pure in heart. Someone who does not play with white roses that belong to others.

Sarah Mally

#10. In the season of white wild roses We two went hand in hand: But now in the ruddy autumn Together already we stand.

Francis Turner Palgrave

#11. Moonlight, white satin, roses. A bride.

Angela Carter

#12. She plucked a rose and held it to her face. She hated the way roses smelled, their sweetness too fragile. She wanted a garden of evergreens. A garden of stones. A garden of swords.

Kiersten White

#13. Janie walked back over with a bouquet of nine white, long stem roses and one white.

Michelle Hughes

#14. There is a garden in her eyes, where roses and white lilies flow.

Thomas Campion

#15. I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks ...

William Shakespeare

#16. Above us hung a tapestry of silver and gold and palest green that in my world had faded into white: a great oak so entwined with ivy it had died, its bare branches pushing through the leaves like bone. I stared at the roses, wanting to hold my hands to such red, but like the light, they burned cold.

Patricia A. McKillip

#17. She looked at her roses. They were white, some incurved and holy, others expanded in an ecstacy. The tree was dark as a shadow. She lifted her hand impulsively to the flowers; she went forward and touched them in worship.

D.H. Lawrence

#18. I was starting to hate my sixteenth birthday. A poufy white dress and a cake with roses made out of pink icing and awkward dancing with boys in awkward suits was starting to sound like a great alternative. Seriously. Sign my up, I wouldn't even complain.

Alyxandria Harvey

#19. I remember, I remember
The roses, red and white,
The violets, and the lily-cups,
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs, where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburmum on his birthday,-
The tree is living yet.

Thomas Hood

#20. Bremer also observed "a pretty little white boy of about seven years of age sitting among some tall Negro girls. The child had light hair, the most lovely light brown eyes, and cheeks as red as roses; he was, nevertheless, the child of a slave mother, and was to be sold as a slave.

Michelle Gordon Jackson

#21. Lawn as white as driven snow; Cyprus black as e'er was crow; Gloves as sweet as damask roses.

William Shakespeare

#22. Today in my heart a vague trembling of stars and all roses are as white as my pain.

Federico Garcia Lorca

#23. The little cakes were iced in white, with golden yellow icing roses on top, and instead of ice cream there was sherbet that was a rainbow of colors in each dish.

Jane Louise Curry

#24. Seasons didn't come behind the nicotine-stained walls of Mountain City's prison, so Harm always imagined it spring--the locust trees clustered with shaggy white blooms, the wet woods flecked with bloodroot, and wild roses and honeysuckle flashing white among the chestnuts on the mountainsides...

Sharyn McCrumb

#25. In the embers shining bright
A garden grows for thy delight,
With roses yellow, red, and white.
But, O my child, beware, beware!
Touch not the roses growing there,
For every rose a thorn doth bear.

Richard Watson Gilder

#26. It's long since I've gone to the East Mountains.
How many seasons have the tiny roses bloomed?
White clouds - unblown - fall apart.
In whose court has the bright moon dropped?

Li Bai

#27. Roses at first were white, Till thy co'd not agree, Whether my Sapho's breast, Or they more white sho'd be.

Robert Herrick

#28. I see trees of green, red roses too. I see them bloom for me and you. And I think to myself what a wonderful world. I see skies of blue and clouds of white. The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night. And I think to myself what a wonderful world

Louis Armstrong

#29. All my laurels you have riven away, and my roses; yet in spite of you, there is one crown I bear away with me ... One thing without stain, unspotted from the world, in spite of doom mine own! And that is ... my white plume.

Edmond Rostand

#30. I walk the ramparts at night in a white dress and a knee-length woven cloak. The weather's turning. I feel the roses in my cheeks.

Rainbow Rowell

#31. window, and every year bore the most beautiful roses, white and red.

Jacob Grimm

#32. I like not lady-slippers, Nor yet the sweet-pea blossoms, Nor yet the flaky roses, Red or white as snow; I like the chaliced lilies, The heavy Eastern lilies, The gorgeous tiger-lilies, That in our garden grow.

Thomas Bailey Aldrich

#33. The Republican convention, an event with the intellectual content of a Guns'n'Roses lyric attended by every ofay insurance brokerin America who owns a pair of white shoes.

P. J. O'Rourke

#34. As if it were important, he strained his memory; beside the sofa there had been a large lamp with a round milk-white base encircled by a chain of painted roses, and beyond that, on the wall, neatly framed, was a series of water colors done by a forgotten aunt during her Grand Tour. But

John Edward Williams

#35. A white linen tablecloth
edged with pink roses --
Mama's favorite pattern --
flowed like a bride's train
from sidewalk to curb to gutter.
Papa stared at black boot marks
crossing it like sins.

Paul B. Janeczko

#36. Roses are red, violets are blue, sugar is sweet, but Carrie White eats shit.

Stephen King