An idealist is one who, on noticing that a rose smells better than a cabbage, concludes that it will also make better soup.
H. L. Mencken (1880 — 1956)
What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.
William Shakespeare (1564 — 1616), "Romeo and Juliet", Act 2 scene 2
In real life, unlike in Shakespeare, the sweetness of the rose depends upon the name it bears. Things are not only what they are. They are, in very important respects, what they seem to be.
Hubert H. Humphrey (1911 — 1978)
The roses, the lovely notes, the dining and dancing are all welcome and splendid. But when the Godiva is gone, the gift of real love is having someone who'll go the distance with you. Someone who, when the wedding day limo breaks down, is willing to share a seat on the bus.
Oprah Winfrey (1954 — ), O Magazine, February 2004
The first man to compare the cheeks of a young woman to a rose was obviously a poet; the first to repeat it was possibly an idiot.
Salvador Dali (1904 — 1989), from Dialogues with Marcel Duchamp, by Pierre Cabanne, 1987, pp. 13-14
It matters not what goal you seek
Its secret here reposes:
You've got to dig from week to week
To get Results or Roses.
A thorn defends the rose, harming only those who would steal the blossom.
At Christmas I no more desire a rose
Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth;
But like of each thing that in season grows.
William Shakespeare (1564 — 1616), Love's Labour Lost
You can complain because roses have thorns, or you can rejoice because thorns have roses.
God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December.
J. M. Barrie, British Playwright
Don't strew me with roses after I'm dead.
When Death claims the light of my brow
No flowers of life will cheer me: instead
You may give me my roses now!
Thomas F. Healey
A relationship is like a rose, How long it lasts, no one knows; Love can erase an awful past, Love can be yours, you'll see at last; To feel that love, it makes you sigh, To have it leave, you'd rather die; You hope you've found that special rose, 'Cause you love and care for the one you chose.
Footfalls echo in the memory Down the passage which we did not take Towards the door we never opened Into the rose-garden. My words echo Thus, in your mind.
TS (Thomas Stearns) Eliot, "Four Quartets"
Oh! snatched away in beauty's bloom,
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;
But on thy turf shall roses rear
Their leaves, the earliest of the year.
George Gordon Byron
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