“The last class of my old professor’s life took place once a week in his house, by a window in the study where he could watch a small hibiscus plant shed its pink leaves.”

“Love takes time. It’s like a seed turning into flower. You need to water it with your trust & care for it. The better you do, the beautiful it grows.But if you’re expecting it to pop-up into the most beautiful flower the very next day of implanting it, then you, my friend, are absolutely delusional.”

“The thick baffling blades of false world customs rip off my views and ideas,like breaking every string of my aesthetic thoughts in disdain and jealousy;pain pain enough your tigrine roars before I die.”

“Ah! listen the song of storm from my disturbed soul;and it scatters flower buds into its lonely halls;like every pain needs a dirge,with wreaths that awful the world framed one for me,and gives the time it calls.”

“She was an exotic flower amongst the snowdrifts, out of place, a Technicolor misfit in a monochrome Christmas movie.”

“Fearlesss is like a flower in a field.”

“I like the posture, but not the yoga. I like the inebriated morning, but not the opium. I like the flower but not the garden, the moment but not the dream. Quiet, my love. Be still. I am sleeping.”

“THE WEATHER OF LOVELoveHas a way of wiltingOr blossomingAt the strangest,Most unpredictable hour.This is how love is,An uncontrollable beastIn the form of a flower.The sun does not always shine on it.Nor does the rain always pour on itNor should it always get beaten by a storm.Love does not always emit the sweetest scents,And sometimes it can sting with its thorns.Water it.Give it plenty of sunlight.Nurture it,And the flower of love willOutlive you.Neglect it or keep dissecting it,And its petals will quickly curl up and die.This is how love is,Perfection is a delusional vision.So love the person who loves youUnconditionally,And abandon the oneWho only loves youUnder favorableConditions.”

“How I wish I was like the water,Flowing so freely with every dropLet my every emotion wonder,No need to start, nor even stopHow I wish I was like the fire,Burning with every flame upLeaving a trace of hot desireAs a Phoenix raises its’ wings upHow I wish I was like the earth,Raising each flower from the groundSeeing the beauty of death and birthAnd then returning to the groundHow I wish I was like the wind,Hearing each whisper, sound and thoughtA lonesome and wandering little wind,Shattering all that has been soughtOh, how I wish I was where you are,Not separated by empty space, so farIt seems like we’re galaxies apart,But we find hope within our heartAnd how I wish I was all of the above,So I can come below and yet forget,The beauty of angels which come down like a doveAnd demons who love with no regret.”

“Every flower blooms at a different pace.”

“Whatever your passion is, keep doing it. Don’t waste time chasing after success or comparing yourself to others. Every flower blooms at a different pace. Excel at doing what your passion is and only focus on perfecting it. Eventually people will see what you are great at doing, and if you are truly great, success will come chasing after you.”

“But Hazael only said, “I brought you a present.”Liraz took the flower, looked at it, and then a Hazael, expressionless. And then she ate it. She chewed the flower and swallowed it.”Hmm,” said Hazael. “Not the usual response.””Oh, do you give flowers often?””Yes,” he said. He probably did. Hazael had a way of enjoying life in spite of the many restrictions they lived under, being soldiers, and worse, being Misbegotten. “I hope it wasn’t poisonous,” he said lightly.Liraz just shrugged. “There are worse ways to die.”

“I am the lover’s gift; I am the wedding wreath;I am the memory of a moment of happiness;I am the last gift of the living to the dead;I am a part of joy and a part of sorrow.”