Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Thornbush. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Thornbush Quotes And Sayings by 93 Authors including Stacey Lee,Diana Gabaldon,Louise Erdrich,F. S Flint,William Shakespeare for you to enjoy and share.
Somewhere between right and wrong lies a garden surrounded by thorns, and I have met you there.
Brownsville, having missed their road and wandered in the
Blue Juneberry, tough diamond willow.
Hawthorn, white and odorous with blossom, framing the quiet fields, and swaying flowers and grasses, and the hum of bees.
I know a place where the wild thyme blows, where oxlips and the nodding violet grows.
Thorndyke never forgets a likely case. He is sort of a medico-legal camel. He gulps down the raw facts from the newspapers or elsewhere, and then, in his leisure moments, he calmly regurgitates them and has a quiet chew at them.
The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree
I planted; they have torn me, and I bleed.
I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.
One of those people with invisible thorns, preventing others from getting too close.
This is the blood's wild tree that grows the intricate and folded rose
Lake Winnipesaukee, he
It's an urban November P.M.: very last leaves down, dry gray hairy grass, brittle bushes, gap-toothed trees. The rising moon looks like it doesn't feel very well.
Up the well known creek
The thorn from the bush one has planted, nourished and pruned pricks more deeply and draws more blood.
Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls.
Saepe creat molles aspera spina rosas" - "Often the prickly thorn produces tender roses
I felt a positive yearning toward one bush this afternoon. There was a match found for me at last. I fell in love with a shrub oak.
A cold, miserable little hamlet on the eastern coast of America called Piper's Grave.
What is your name?" I asked.
"Thorn."
"Thorn?"
"If you touch me, you bleed.
The country blooms - a garden, and a grave.
Toad's ancestral home, won back by matchless valour, consummate strategy, and a proper handling of sticks.
Near the lake where drooped the willow, Long time ago!
No one plants rosebushes for the thorns.
There are thorns everywhere, but along the path of vice, roses bloom above them.
Pretty as a painting, but thorny as a rose.
Is it where the flow'r of the orange blows, And the fireflies dance thro' the myrtle boughs?
Your thorns are the best part of you.
Where are the rough brave Britons to be found With Hearts of Oak, so much of old renowned?
Brambleclaw dipped his head. "The battle is won," he growled. "The clearing is ours. Do you concede or shall we fight for it again?"
Blackstar flashed a look of burning hatred over his shoulder. "Take it," he hissed. "It was never worth the blood that has been spilled here today.
We win half the battle when we make up our minds to take the world as we find it including the thorns.
I prefer prickly roses.
On the Jellicoe road
two feet tall,
the crimson-budded roses,
their young thorns
tender in
the soft spring rain
Rose is not complete without the thorns.
WindClan territory
Dropping into a thorn bush can lead to no end of grief.
Of all the trees that grow so fair Old England to adorn,
Greater are none beneath the Sun
Than Oak, and Ash and Thorn.
Yellowfang crouched among the thorns with Deerleap on one
Know'st thou the land where the lemon-trees bloom, Where the gold orange glows in the deep thicket's gloom, Where a wind ever soft from the blue heaven blows, And the groves are of laurel and myrtle and rose!
The Thorn of Istra, her mind supplied. That's the Thorn of Istra.
Lots. He's killed lots and lots and lots.
Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak winds
Do sorely ruffle; for many miles about
There's scarce a bush.
If the seed doesn't get planted, it can't become a toxic thornbush. We must guard our minds and our hearts, starting with our eyes.
Her returned in the evening, drier, sharper, a man with a closer kinship with a thorn bush.
Bagby Hot Springs.
The thorny point
Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show
Of smooth civility; yet am I inland bred
And know some nurture.
The best rose-bush, after all, is not that which has the fewest thorns, but that which bears the finest roses.
Southly thru shrubby heath we tromped now till we got to wideway. Wideway I'd heard o' from storymen an' here it was, an open, long, flat o' roadstone. SAplin's'n'bush was musclin' up but wondersome'n'wild was that windy space.
I love the long grass coming up to meet the willows.
The rose is often found near the nettle.
Where flowers degenerate man cannot live.
That gate," said the under-gardener, turning with great deliberation towards the south, and embracing the whole of that part of England with one comprehensive sweep of his arm. "Curious,
Don't let the fear of the thorn keep you from the rose.
Sweet love, sweet thorn, when lightly to my heart. I took your thrust, whereby I since am slain, And I lie disheveled in the grass apart, A sodden thing bedrenched by tears and rain.
The barberry berry sticks on the small hedge,
cold slits the same crease in the finger,
the same thorn hurts. The leaf repeats the lesson.
For every thorn is just as essential to the longevity of the plant as the blossoms.
Lake Wobegon, the little town that time forgot and the decades cannot improve.
White dew- one drop on each thorn
The budding rose above the rose full blown.
Prescott National Forest is right on the edge of my home in Arizona.
A rhododendron bud lavender-tipped. Soon a glory of blooms to clash with the cardinals and gladden the hummingbirds!
WEEDS AND NETTLES, BRIARS AND THORNS, HAVE THRIVEN UNDER YOUR SHADOW, DISSETTLEMENT AND DIVISION, DISCONTENTMENT AND DISSATISFACTION, TOGETHER WITH REAL DANGERS TO THE WHOLE.
While rose-buds scarcely show'd their hue, But coyly linger'd on the thorn.
In the deep shadow of the porch
A slender bind-weed springs,
And climbs, like airy acrobat,
The trellises, and swings
And dances in the golden sun
In fairy loops and rings.
The rain forest has Sting. Now Siberia has Jack Dee. Someone had to draw the short straw. In this case it was the rain forest.
among roses, be a rose, among thorns, be a thorn
Fuck up and I'll most likely kill you. Fuck up bad enough and I'll torture you first."
"-Thorn
Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson, Yet our full-leaved willows are in the freshest green. Such a kindly autumn, so mercifully dealing With the growths of summer, I never yet have seen.
When a rose dies, a thorn is left behind.
The rose's rarest essence lives in the thorns.
Inhabited by those who died in wickness,
A sort of botanical glory-hole
Wild rose-bush, covered, in this month of June, with its delicate gems, which might be imagined to offer their fragrance and fragile beauty to the prisoner as he went in, and to the condemned criminal as he came forth to his doom, in token that the deep heart of Nature could pity and be kind to him.
Observe this dew-drenched rose of Tyrian gardens A rose today. But you will ask in vain Tomorrow what it is; and yesterday It was the dust, the sunshine, and the rains.
How quickly a person in pain whom you can't help becomes a reproach. And then, no doubt, a thorn.
We fought that tree to a vicious stand-still
Thorns pricked at her skin everywhere, poked at her face
If I Separated Myself
From You ... I Would Turn
Entirely Thorn!
In the garden I will die. In the rosebush they will kill me.
I know him, February's thrush, And loud at eve he valentines On sprays that paw the naked bush Where soon will sprout the thorns and bines.
I come from south Wales. A place called Aberbargoed.
And he repents in thorns that sleeps in beds of roses.
The thorn of death falls from heaven, and its myriad forms leave us no room to move.
The gardener uses both roses in the flowerbed and thorns in making fences.
What one approves , another scorns, And thus his nature each discloses: You find the rosebush full of thorns, I find the thornbush full of roses.
Sovereign of beauty, like the spray she grows;Compass'd she is with thorns and canker'd bower.Yet, were she willing to be pluck'd and worn,She would be gather'd, though she grew on thorn.
I sheathe my spear on my back and I plow through bushes dotted with prickly balls, feeling them scratch and scrape my skin, but do not stop.
What are the thorns really telling her? It's why she won't let us see them, why she clings to them
or they cling to her
as though she got herself buried in a bramble thicket and she can't get out and we can't get in to free her.
Pemberley Woods with some perturbation;
Do you know the land where the lemon-trees blossom;where the golden oranges glow in the dark foliage'.
Who gathers the withered rose?
Running through an unfamiliar forest filled with thorns is half an exercise in masochism, and half an obstacle course from the deepest reaches of Hell.
The thorny path bears some of the sweetest flowers that adorn life. And when with naked, bleeding feet we walk upon a flinty soil, we often find diamonds.
What airs outblown from ferny dells And clover-bloom and sweet brier smells.
Thorns do not stop the rose from being picked.
Rose LeBlanc got her name for a reason. She was full of fucking thorns. She was so beautiful - so ridiculously, unbelievably alluring - that just like real roses, she grew little spikes to protect herself. Because everyone wanted to have her.
Ledyard, the great New England traveller, and Mungo Park, the
Dearest, the dark will take a long span.
Get a lantern or torch ready in hand
To lighten the right path so that we can
Cautiously avoid thorns in the night.
(Navigator)
Desert trees that don't grow up but grow gnarled and thick. Stunted and stubborn. Remind me of Bangley. They just refuse to die at any price. Some
Thorns do not diminish a rose's beauty.
Bray is where I live; it's a seaside resort. It's a nice place to walk up there and stuff, on the coast. There's crosses along on top of it.
'Tis spring; come out to ramble
The hilly brakes around,
For under thorn and bramble
About the hollow ground
The primroses are found.
And there's the windflower chilly
With all the winds at play,
And there's the Lenten lily
That has not long to stay
And dies on Easter day.