Almond Blossom Flower Quotes

When an almond tree became covered with blossoms in the heart of winter, all the trees around it began to jeer. 'What vanity,' they screamed, 'what insolence! Just think, it believes it can bring spring in this way!' The flowers of the almond tree blushed for shame. 'Forgive me, my sisters,' said the tree. 'I swear I did not want to blossom, but suddenly I felt a warm springtime breeze in my heart.

It was close to the end of Shebat, when the almond trees blossomed. The wakeful tree, we called it. Midway down the hill, I smelled its rich brown scent, and winding farther, I came upon the tree itself, its canopy lush with white flowers.

I still dream in pictures and color, always the world of my childhood. I see the purple Judas trees at Easter lighting up the roadsides and terraces of the town. Ochre cliffs made of cinnamon powder. Autumn clouds rolling along the ground of the hills, and the patchwork of wet oak leaves on the grass. The shape of a rose petal. And my parents' faces, which will never grow any older. "But it is strange how scent brings it all back too. I only have to smell certain aromas, and I am back in a certain place with a certain feeling." The comforting past smelled of heliotrope and cherry and sweet almond biscuits: close-up smells, flowers you had to put your nose to as the sight faded from your eyes. The scents of that childhood past had already begun to slip away: Maman's apron with blotches of game stew; linen pressed with faded lavender; the sheep in the barn. The present, or what had so very recently been the present, was orange blossom infused with hope.

But, careful! Jesus does not say, Go off and do things on your own. No! That is not what he is saying. Jesus says, Go, for I am with you! This is what is so beautiful for us; it is what guides us. If we go out to bring his Gospel with love, with a true apostolic spirit, with parrhesia, he walks with us, he goes ahead of us, and he gets there first. As we say in Spanish, nos primerea. By now you know what I mean by this. It is the same thing that the Bible tells us. In the Bible, the Lord says: I am like the flower of the almond. Why? Because that is the first flower to blossom in the spring. He is always the first! This is fundamental for us: God is always ahead of us! When we think about going far away, to an extreme outskirt, we may be a bit afraid, but in fact God is already there. Jesus is waiting for us in the hearts of our brothers and sisters, in their wounded bodies, in their hardships, in their lack of faith.

Within it grew such a variety of plants as Elizabeth had ever seen: white roses, carnations, lobelias, mimosas, even sweet peas tumbling over each other in vigorous abandon. At one end was an herb garden, and Elizabeth recognized rue, fennel, caraway, sage, thyme and mint. Through a doorway at the rear of the courtyard she could see a grove of olive and lemon trees and on the short walk from the harbor to the house she had spotted tall, spiky thistle-like plants, palms and trees covered in white flowers. She was seized with an immediate desire to open her sketchbook and take out the magnifying glass from the pocket of her cloak, to capture the intricate detail of an almond blossom, its calyx and corolla, stamens and carpel, or perhaps to draw the curl of a vine tendril or a spiky aloe leaf

So we see according to God’s command, almond flowers blossomed on Aaron’s staff representing the tribe of Levi amongst the twelve tribes who had placed their staffs; through this it proved to them that the priesthood was given to the house of Aaron by God (Numbers 17:1-10). When Aaron died at the age of 123,

That’s an almond tree. Its spring blossoms are the symbol of indiscretion—

The hardest job is transitioning from winter to spring. Frozen ground melting to let sprouts shoot up, colorful flowers blossoming from each dead branch. That’s what tough looks like. As for summer, it simply needs to take a couple more steps forward using the momentum of spring. That’s why I think May is the laziest of all the months. A month that’s overrated.

She shrugged her shoulders, then shifted her attention to the hand-labeled glass jars of honey. "Which one do you want to use?" "Something mild to go with the cheese." "The milkweed blossom?" Isabel nodded. "We're probably the only ones who'll notice." "The different flavors of honey have always been obvious to me," Jamie said. "Not to me. I've had to train my palate. Same with wines. But I'm not a natural, but I love the alchemy of pairing flowers. If you were twenty-one and not pregnant, I'd give you a taste of this nice new sauvignon blanc from Angel Creek. It's going to go perfectly with the appetizers." She turned off the heat under the fried marcona almonds and gave the pan a shake. "One sip," Jamie insisted, nibbling a bit of the goat cheese and honey on a cracker. "One, young lady." Isabel poured a bit of the chilled white wine in a goblet and held it out to her. Jamie savored a tiny sip, and smiled blissfully. "You're right. It's delicious." Isabel took back the goblet. "Look at me, corrupting a minor.

The more I read, the more I felt my understanding of the universe slip away from me. Columbine symbolized both 'desertion' and 'folly'; poppy, 'imagination' and 'extravagance'. The almond blossom, listed as 'indiscretion' in Elizabeth's dictionary, appeared in others as 'hope' and occasionally 'thoughtlessness'. The definitions were not only different, they were often contradictory. Even common thistle- the staple of my communication- appeared as 'misanthropy' only when it wasn't defined as 'austerity'.

​Theobroma cacao is an example of biological inefficiency. Its flower blossoms are pollenated exclusively by the midge fly. Of the hundreds of flowers produced by one cacao tree, only 1-3% bear fruit. Each flower results in a large pod containing 30-40 almond-shaped seeds or beans. Pods reach full growth in 4-5 months and take 1 month to ripen.

There is a smell, rich and sickly sweet, so pungent I feel as if I am being choked. A smell that is both new and curiously familiar. Notes of the most intense jasmine with a back note of vanilla and overripe mango. The sea is too warm, and I cut short my night swim. As I pass through the garden, lanterns now glowing, the perfume has faded a little, it is less hypnotic, softer and more floral than before. Trumpets of deep-crimson hibiscus have closed for the night, chains of bougainvillea and a plant I do not know are the only ones in flower. It is this last from which the scent is emanating. Each blossom has thick white petals, crisp, like icing on a wedding cake. Almost too perfect to be real, the petals darken in the centre to a pale-yellow with a deep-saffron eye. Strangely, the scent is stronger from a distance than close up. My mystery flower is frangipani, or if we are talking in botanical terminology, Plumeria, the name given to honor the seventeenth-century French monk and botanist Charles Plumier. I note that the almond filling known as frangipane was once perfumed with the extract, though we are a long, long way from Bakewell. There are few perfumes I would call hypnotic-- tuberose, Casablanca lily, jasmine perhaps-- but frangipani is up there with them. I go back to my room, head throbbing, drunk on flowers.