“
Sonnet XVII
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way than this:
where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
”
”
Pablo Neruda
“
She would bloom where she was planted and let her roots close around the throats of her enemies.
”
”
Julie C. Dao (Forest of a Thousand Lanterns (Rise of the Empress, #1))
“
Bloom Where You're Planted
”
”
Mary Engelbreit
“
I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as one loves certain obscure things,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries
the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,
and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose
from the earth lives dimly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you directly without problems or pride:
I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love,
except in this form in which I am not nor are you,
so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,
so close that your eyes close with my dreams.
”
”
Pablo Neruda (100 Love Sonnets)
“
Bloom where you are planted and sow where you are fed...
”
”
Stella Payton
“
We have to bloom where we are planted, enjoy the sunlight while we can, and thank the heavens for the rain that not only beats us down, but feeds us and makes us stronger.
”
”
Ben Behunin (Remembering Isaac: The Wise and Joyful Potter of Niederbipp (Remembering Isaac, #1))
“
I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving
but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.
”
”
Pablo Neruda
“
You don't notice the dead leaving when they really choose to leave you. You're not meant to. At most you feel them as a whisper or the wave of a whisper undulating down. I would compare it to a woman in the back of a lecture hall or theater whom no one notices until she slips out.Then only those near the door themselves, like Grandma Lynn, notice; to the rest it is like an unexplained breeze in a closed room.
Grandma Lynn died several years later, but I have yet to see her here. I imagine her tying it on in her heaven, drinking mint juleps with Tennessee Williams and Dean Martin. She'll be here in her own sweet time, I'm sure.
If I'm to be honest with you, I still sneak away to watch my family sometimes. I can't help it, and sometimes they still think of me. They can't help it....
It was a suprise to everyone when Lindsey found out she was pregnant...My father dreamed that one day he might teach another child to love ships in bottles. He knew there would be both sadness and joy in it; that it would always hold an echo of me.
I would like to tell you that it is beautiful here, that I am, and you will one day be, forever safe. But this heaven is not about safety just as, in its graciousness, it isn't about gritty reality. We have fun.
We do things that leave humans stumped and grateful, like Buckley's garden coming up one year, all of its crazy jumble of plants blooming all at once. I did that for my mother who, having stayed, found herself facing the yard again. Marvel was what she did at all the flowers and herbs and budding weeds. Marveling was what she mostly did after she came back- at the twists life took.
And my parents gave my leftover possessions to the Goodwill, along with Grandma Lynn's things.
They kept sharing when they felt me. Being together, thinking and talking about the dead, became a perfectly normal part of their life. And I listened to my brother, Buckley, as he beat the drums.
Ray became Dr. Singh... And he had more and more moments that he chose not to disbelieve. Even if surrounding him were the serious surgeons and scientists who ruled over a world of black and white, he maintained this possibility: that the ushering strangers that sometimes appeared to the dying were not the results of strokes, that he had called Ruth by my name, and that he had, indeed, made love to me.
If he ever doubted, he called Ruth. Ruth, who graduated from a closet to a closet-sized studio on the Lower East Side. Ruth, who was still trying to find a way to write down whom she saw and what she had experienced. Ruth, who wanted everyone to believe what she knew: that the dead truly talk to us, that in the air between the living, spirits bob and weave and laugh with us. They are the oxygen we breathe.
Now I am in the place I call this wide wide Heaven because it includes all my simplest desires but also the most humble and grand. The word my grandfather uses is comfort.
So there are cakes and pillows and colors galore, but underneath this more obvious patchwork quilt are places like a quiet room where you can go and hold someone's hand and not have to say anything. Give no story. Make no claim. Where you can live at the edge of your skin for as long as you wish. This wide wide Heaven is about flathead nails and the soft down of new leaves, wide roller coaster rides and escaped marbles that fall then hang then take you somewhere you could never have imagined in your small-heaven dreams.
”
”
Alice Sebold (The Lovely Bones)
“
Unreal City,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,
To where St Mary Woolnoth kept the hours
With a dead sound on the final stock of nine.
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him crying: 'Stetson!
You, who were with me in the ships at Mylae!
That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,
Or with his nails he'll dig it up again!
You! hypocrite lecteur!-mon semblable,-mon frere!
”
”
T.S. Eliot (Selected Poems)
“
When you stop blooming where you've been planted, it's time to put down new roots.
”
”
Mandy Hale (I've Never Been to Vegas, but My Luggage Has: Mishaps and Miracles on the Road to Happily Ever After)
“
Bloom where planted
”
”
Karin Boutall (Community Gardens (Community Gardens Series#1))
“
DAY TWENTY I DECLARE that I am calm and peaceful. I will not let people or circumstances upset me. I will rise above every difficulty, knowing that God has given me the power to remain calm. I choose to live my life happy, bloom where I am planted, and let God fight my battles. This is my declaration.
”
”
Joel Osteen (I Declare: 31 Promises to Speak Over Your Life)
“
So we bloom where we are planted, turning our faces to the sun. - From the 2013 Call the Midwife Christmas Special
”
”
Heidi Thomas
“
we cannot change where God has put us. If we are to bloom at all, we must bloom where we have been planted.
”
”
Lisa Wingate (Tending Roses (Tending Roses #1))
“
Today I woke up! Someone else saw their last day yesterday. That is all I need to know to make this day great.
”
”
Germany Kent
“
It’s not where we’re planted but where we bloom that defines us.
”
”
RuNyx (The Emperor (Dark Verse, #3))
“
At any given time, we all have room to grow and bloom, no matter where we are planted. No matter our season of life, we each have opportunities to learn more, develop more, give more.
”
”
Ruth Soukup (Living Well, Spending Less: 12 Secrets of the Good Life)
“
Bloom where you're planted.
”
”
Bishop of Geneva, Saint Francis de Sales
“
Bloom Where You're Planted”. ― Mary Engelbreit
”
”
Mary Engelbreit
“
No matter how many obstacles were thrown my way, no matter how many times I felt I would never be enough, no matter where life planted me… I bloomed with grace.
”
”
Lisina Coney (The Brightest Light of Sunshine (The Brightest Light, #1))
“
Always leave behind a garden.
”
”
Toni Orrill
“
I love you between shadow and soul. I love you as the plant that hasn't bloomed yet, and carries hidden within itself the light of flowers. I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. Because of you, the dense fragrance that rises from the earth lives in my body, rioting with hunger for the eternity of our victorious kisses.
”
”
Pablo Neruda
“
My birthday is in March, and that year it fell during an especially bright spring week, vivid and clear in the narrow residential streets where we lived just a handful of blocks south of Sunset. The night-blooming jasmine that crawled up our neighborhood's front gate released its heady scent at dusk, and to the north, the hills rolled charmingly over the horizon, houses tucked into the brown. Soon, daylight savings time would arrive, and even at early nine, I associated my birthday with the first hint of summer, with the feeling in classrooms of open windows and lighter clothing and in a few months no more homework. My hair got lighter in spring, from light brown to nearly blond, almost like my mother's ponytail tassel. In the neighborhood gardens, the agapanthus plants started to push out their long green robot stems to open up to soft purples and blues.
”
”
Aimee Bender (The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake)
“
When you stop blooming where you’ve been planted, it’s time to put down new roots.
”
”
Mandy Hale (I've Never Been to Vegas, but My Luggage Has: Mishaps and Miracles on the Road to Happily Ever After)
“
Bloom where you are planted--it drives the weeds crazy!
”
”
Celine Chatillon Cynthianna
“
There is a part of blooming which I did not understand, you see. You can be a flower all your life but still not understand it. Blooming is one thing; but blooming where you are planted is another. It's so easy to say, "I will bloom when I am there", but you need to be saying, "I will bloom right here, where I was planted." Because until I bloom "right here", I'm never going to actually bloom; because we cannot do it in concept, you see, we must bloom now. We must bloom here. The flower must trust.
”
”
C. JoyBell C.
“
Bloom where you are planted,' the poster reads. But the poster does not tell the whole story. ' plant yourself where you know you can bloom' may well be the poster we all need to see. Or better yet, "Work the arid soil however long it takes until something that fulfills the rest of you finally makes the desert in you bloom.
”
”
Joan D. Chittister (Between the Dark and the Daylight: Embracing the Contradictions of Life)
“
Sonnet XVII
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way than this:
where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
”
”
Pablo Neruda (Love Poems)
“
I think that happiness is very important. But I will also say that the most effective people I know are not the happiest, and there is something to be said for effectiveness. Even if we were managing a team of nearly a hundred thousand volunteer social media users, living with my girlfriend and my monkey, watching Netflix, having breakfast, and taking care of a single lovingly spoiled potato plant was pretty fucking relaxing. But I think there's somethng inside of us, something that blooms in us in adolescence and never leaves...and it's just...want. Some people have more of it than others, but I think we all have it. And the most amazing tool that I think anyone in the world can have is the ability to control and direct that want.
Some people work to minimize it with mindfulness and meditation; some people let it grow and run free and take over their lives. But some people, and I consider myself one of them, study their want, refine it, and build an engine that burns it. Even if their want pushes all in one direction, they can tack against it like a sailboat, getting somewhere better than where they wanted to be.
”
”
Hank Green (A Beautifully Foolish Endeavor (The Carls, #2))
“
I thought this director gig was just one of those side roads we take at times on the journey to our true purpose. Now I see that in God's economy, nothing is wasted
”
”
Gay Idle (Bloom Where You're Planted)
“
And home was where you planted flowers in the expectation that you would be there to see them bloom year after year.
”
”
Maggie Osborne (Silver Lining)
“
Bloom Where You Are Planted" It has been my life's philosophy, or in the words of Mick Jagger, "you can't always get want you want, but you get what you need.
”
”
Emily Bex
“
Not everyone can bloom where they are planted. Some folks have to go seek out the sun.
”
”
Georgia Dunn (Elvis Puffs Out: A Breaking Cat News Adventure)
“
No trial comes without a blessing attached.
Bloom where you are planted.
”
”
Wanda Mitchell
“
Bloom where you are planted.
”
”
Lynda Cheldelin Fell
“
Bloom where you’re planted and if you can’t do that, plant where you bloom. —Dutch Callahan
”
”
Lori Wilde (The Cowboy Takes a Bride (Jubilee, Texas, #1))
“
Bamboo blooms rarely, maybe every sixty to one hundred years, but when the parent plant flowers, its offspring—no matter where in the world they are—also bloom.
”
”
Heather Dune Macadam (999: The Extraordinary Young Women of the First Official Jewish Transport to Auschwitz)
“
Consider the blue rose: if she were to say, "I will only bloom when I am blue", then she would never bloom at all. Blue roses do not exist. But the blue rose is a rose that bloomed white, then somebody's hands came to paint her blue later on. Someone saw her, and painted blue on her. There would be no blue roses at all if white ones didn't bloom where they are planted. Things change. Bloom now.
”
”
C. JoyBell C.
“
Luther Burbank was born in a brick farmhouse in Lancaster Mass,
he walked through the woods one winter
crunching through the shinycrusted snow
stumbling into a little dell where a warm spring was
and found the grass green and weeds sprouting
and skunk cabbage pushing up a potent thumb,
He went home and sat by the stove and read Darwin
Struggle for Existence Origin of Species Natural
Selection that wasn't what they taught in church,
so Luther Burbank ceased to believe moved to Lunenburg,
found a seedball in a potato plant
sowed the seed and cashed in on Darwin’s Natural Selection
on Spencer and Huxley
with the Burbank potato.
Young man go west;
Luther Burbank went to Santa Rosa
full of his dream of green grass in winter ever-
blooming flowers ever-
bearing berries; Luther Burbank
could cash in on Natural Selection Luther Burbank
carried his apocalyptic dream of green grass in winter
and seedless berries and stoneless plums and thornless roses brambles cactus—
winters were bleak in that bleak
brick farmhouse in bleak Massachusetts—
out to sunny Santa Rosa;
and he was a sunny old man
where roses bloomed all year
everblooming everbearing
hybrids.
America was hybrid
America could cash in on Natural Selection.
He was an infidel he believed in Darwin and Natural
Selection and the influence of the mighty dead
and a good firm shipper’s fruit
suitable for canning.
He was one of the grand old men until the churches
and the congregations
got wind that he was an infidel and believed
in Darwin.
Luther Burbank had never a thought of evil,
selected improved hybrids for America
those sunny years in Santa Rosa.
But he brushed down a wasp’s nest that time;
he wouldn’t give up Darwin and Natural Selection
and they stung him and he died
puzzled.
They buried him under a cedartree.
His favorite photograph
was of a little tot
standing beside a bed of hybrid
everblooming double Shasta daisies
with never a thought of evil
And Mount Shasta
in the background, used to be a volcano
but they don’t have volcanos
any more.
”
”
John Dos Passos (The 42nd Parallel (U.S.A. #1))
“
Love to a woman is what the sun is to the world, it is her life, her animating principle, without which she must droop, and, if the plant be very tender, die. Except under its influence, a woman can never attain her full growth, never touch the height of her possibilities, or bloom into the plenitude of her moral beauty. A loveless marriage dwarfs our natures, a marriage where love is develops them to their utmost.
”
”
H. Rider Haggard (Dawn)
“
There is a part of blooming which I did not understand, you see. You can be a flower all your life but still not understand it. Blooming is one thing; but blooming where you are planted is another. It's so easy to say, "I will bloom when I am there", but you need to be saying, "I will bloom right here, where I was planted." Because until I bloom "right here", I'm never going to actually bloom; because we cannot bloom in concept, you see, we must to bloom now. We must bloom here.
”
”
C. JoyBell C.
“
It seemed to him that she looked completely at home in the classic truck, but then, he supposed that spoke more of her personality than of the vehicle. She was probably at home...wherever she was planted. Ha! That thought had come straight from his wife. She was always admonishing the boys, "Bloom where you're planted." By the time they were in high school, they'd learned it did no good complaining to their mother about teachers, coaches, or chores. Her response was consistent throughout their road to adulthood.
”
”
Vannetta Chapman (Murder Simply Brewed (Amish Village Mystery #1))
“
They nailed their stakes into the earth of my life, those farmers. They knew the place in me where the river stopped, and they marked it with a new name. Shantaram Kishan Kharre. I don’t know if they found the name in the heart of the man they believed me to be, or if they planted it there, like a wishing tree, to bloom and grow. Whatever the case, whether they discovered that peace or created it, the truth is that the man I am was born in those moments, as I stood near the flood sticks with my face lifted to the chrismal rain. Shantaram. The better man that, slowly, and much too late, I began to be.
”
”
Gregory David Roberts (Shantaram)
“
I realised one day not so long ago, that I believe in many things, but that I do not trust any of them. I have, for the longest time, not trusted anything that I believe in. And so it dawned upon me: that belief and trust are two entirely different things. One may believe wholeheartedly without trusting for a minute. I have been like a seed in the ground: believing that the Sun is shining somewhere up there; believing that rain falls and that it probably feels really good too; believing that there is Winter and Summer, Spring and Fall... but never trusting anything that I believe in enough to break through the soil and reach my branches up towards the sky! The French have a saying from the 15'th Century: "Fleuris là où tu es plantée", which means, "Bloom where you are planted". Blooming has everything to do with trust, I have discovered, and very little to do with belief. To become anything at all, the seed must trust. And so shall I.
”
”
C. JoyBell C.
“
I’d forgotten the names of most of the plants, but back in Dana Ramos’s class I’d known them all. I only lived four years in New England, but I noticed more and learned more about what was around me there than I ever had in Indiana, and more than I ever would in LA, where there’s constantly something new and impossibly technicolor blooming on my street. I could still tell you a few of them, the stalwart trees and ephemeral flowers of New Hampshire: painted trillium, bunchberry, hemlock, sheep laurel, white cedar, bloodroot. Below me and above me and in the woods stretching thick and endless, their leaves made sugar out of nothing but light.
”
”
Rebecca Makkai (I Have Some Questions For You)
“
And then there was the expansive garden that ran the length of the rear of the house- lush with color and fragrances that seemed to burst from every branch and bloom. Whoever had designed it possessed a keen eye for beauty, each plant chosen with obvious care and an affinity for nature.
She'd even acquired a new cat from its depths, a stray orange tom she found wandering among the hydrangea bushes one morning. An offered dish of milk and he'd been her bosom beau ever since. She'd decided to call him Ranunculus because Buttercup was far too feminine a name for such a large and impressive male. She gazed at him now where he slept in the sunshine, basking like a small potentate in the heat of the day.
”
”
Tracy Anne Warren (Seduced by His Touch (The Byrons of Braebourne, #2))
“
The "Avenue," so called by the Newbridge people, was a stretch of road four or five hundred yards long, completely arched over with huge, wide-spreading apple-trees, planted years ago by an eccentric old farmer. Overhead was one long canopy of snowy fragrant bloom. Below the boughs the air was full of a purple twilight and far ahead a glimpse of painted sunset sky shone like a great rose window at the end of a cathedral aisle.
Its beauty seemed to strike the child dumb. She leaned back in the buggy, her thin hands clasped before her, her face lifted rapturously to the white splendor above. Even when they had passed out and were driving down the long slope to Newbridge she never moved or spoke. Still with rapt face she gazed afar into the sunset west, with eyes that saw visions trooping splendidly across that glowing background. Through Newbridge, a bustling little village where dogs barked at them and small boys hooted and curious faces peered from the windows, they drove, still in silence. When three more miles had dropped away behind them the child had not spoken. She could keep silence, it was evident, as energetically as she could talk.
”
”
L.M. Montgomery (Anne of Green Gables (Anne of Green Gables, #1))
“
What is life anyway?
Is it a bridge between thoughts and emotions?
Is it a reflection of brilliant and foolish notions?
Is it a system that provides methods to find roots?
Is it a map of many illusions and absolute truths?
What is life anyway?
Is it a gate to worlds that are not yet known?
Is it a farm where ideas are planted and grown?
Is it a tiny seed that blooms into a beautiful rose?
Is it a time capsule of experiences that you chose?
”
”
Aida Mandic (What Is Life Anyway?)
“
The Sparrow Sisters' roses still bloomed on New Year's Day, their scent rich and warm even when snow weighted their petals closed. When customers came down the rutted road to the small eighteenth-century barn where the sisters worked, they marveled at the jasmine that twined through the split-rail fence, the perfume so intense they could feel it in their mouths. As they paid for their purchases, they wondered (vaguely, it must be said, for the people of Granite Point knew not to think too hard about the Sisters) how it was that clematis and honeysuckle climbed the barn in November and the morning glories bloomed all day. The fruit trees were so fecund that the peaches hung on the low branches, surrounded by more blossoms, apples and pears ripened in June and stayed sweet and fresh into December. Their Italian fig trees were heavy with purple teardrop fruit only weeks after they were planted. If you wanted a tomato so ripe the juice seemed to move beneath the skin, you needed only to pick up a punnet at the Nursery.
”
”
Ellen Herrick (The Sparrow Sisters)
“
See, birds of every varied voice Around us in the woods rejoice, On creeper, shrub, and plant alight, Or wing from tree to tree their flight. Each bird his kindly mate has found, And loud their notes of triumph sound, Blending in sweetest music like The distant warblings of the shrike. See how the river banks are lined With birds of every hue and kind. Here in his joy the Koïl sings, There the glad wild-cock flaps his wings. The blooms of bright Aśokas526where The song of wild bees fills the air, And the soft whisper of the boughs Increase my longing for my spouse. The vernal flush of flower and spray Will burn my very soul away. What use, what care have I for life If I no more may see my wife Soft speaker with the glorious hair, And eyes with silken lashes fair? Now is the time when all day long The Koïls fill the woods with song. And gardens bloom at spring's sweet touch Which my beloved loved so much. Ah me, Sumitrá's son, the fire Of sorrow, sprung from soft desire, Fanned by the charms the spring time shows, Will burn my heart and end my woes, Whose sad eyes look on each fair tree,
”
”
Vālmīki (The Rámáyan of Válmíki)
“
Such questions were a recent habit Ruby had developed. She seemed to delight in demonstrating how disoriented Ada was in the world. As they walked by the creek one day she had asked, What's the course of that water? Where does it come from and what does it run into? Another day she had said, Name me four plants on that hillside that in a pinch you could eat. How many days to the next new moon? Name two things blooming now, and two things fruiting.
Ada did not yet have those answers, but she could feel them coming, and Ruby was her principal text.
”
”
Charles Frazier (Cold Mountain)
“
Agnes has a patch of land at Hewlands, leased from her brother, stretching from the house where she was born to the forest. She keeps bees here, in hemp-woven skeps, which hum with industrious and absorbed life; there are rows of herbs, flowers, plants, stems that wind up supporting twigs. Agnes’s witch garden, her stepmother calls it, with a roll of her eyes. Agnes can be seen, most weeks, moving up and down the rows of these plants, pulling up weeds, laying her hand to the coils of her hives, pruning stems here and there, secreting certain blooms, leaves, pods, petals, seeds in a leather bag at her hip.
”
”
Maggie O'Farrell (Hamnet)
“
So he stopped at the first of them, a frigid hothouse whose front tipped forward over the street in defiance of gravity, taste, and ordinance; inside, the tender daytime flowers could be seen huddling in family groups beneath a constant, unseen sun, and behind them was the hermetic door to the dark Cactus Room where the shy nocturnal plants, genus cereus, could bloom in privacy at any hour. Vivien, once out of the car, appeared less constrained. She did not have that stiffness so many have on first entering bars, that air of waiting stubbornly for alcohol to loosen them, which so often presages their manner when it comes' time for bed. She was already excited when the martinis came.
”
”
Douglas Woolf (Wall to Wall (American Literature))
“
One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII
I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as one loves certain obscure things,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries
the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,
and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose
from the earth lives dimly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you directly without problems or pride:
I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love,
except in this form in which I am not nor are you,
so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,
so close that your eyes close with my dreams.
”
”
Pablo Neruda
“
I stalked into the moonlit garden and lost myself in its labyrinth of hedges and flower beds.
I didn't care where I was going. After a while, I paused in the rose garden. The moonlight stained the red petals a deep purple and cast a silvery sheen on the white blooms.
'My father had this garden planted for my mother,' Tamlin said from behind me. I didn't bother to face him. I dug my nails into my palms as he stopped by my side. 'It was a mating present.'
I stared the flowers without seeing anything. The flowers I'd painted on the table at home were probably crumbling or gone by now. Nesta might have even scraped them off.
My nails pricked the skin of my palms. Tamlin providing for them or no, glamouring their memories or no, I'd been... erased from their lives. Forgotten. I'd let him erase me. He'd offered me paints and the space and time to practice; he'd shown me pools of starlight; he'd saved my life like some kind of feral knight in a legend, and I'd gulped it down like faerie wine.
”
”
Sarah J. Maas (A Court of Thorns and Roses (A Court of Thorns and Roses, #1))
“
The first flicker of dawn licked the eastern sky. The light grew stronger, revealing that the white larkspur had turned dark crimson overnight. Within her shrine, a new and beautiful light gray flower sprang from the ground, surrounding her.
Asphodel.
Kore touched the gentle flowers growing around her and shifted the coloring of her dress to a soft white, mimicking the color of the blossoms. How beautiful they were... like last night, like him, though she knew 'beautiful' was seldom applied to men, and was too soft a word for him anyway.
Asphodel... she was the Maiden of the Flowers and knew that's what these were intuitively, but tried to remember where she had heard that name- and what their significance was.
She had only ever seen asphodel as a gnarled dark gray weed. It was one of the few plants her mother would rip out of the fields wherever she had seen it. Kore had always trailed behind her, doing the same. She had never seen asphodel bud and and blossom. The white blooms were thin, veined with a centerline of crimson, six petals with bright filaments bursting from the center and ending in deep red anthers. They were beautiful and foreign.
”
”
Rachel Alexander (Receiver of Many (Hades & Persephone, #1))
“
We remembered the delicate fig-shaped island,stranded between the American Empire and peaceful Canada, as it had been years ago, with its welcoming red white-and-blue flag-shaped flower bed,splashing fountains, European casino, and horse paths leading through woods where Indians had bent trees into giant bows. Now grass grew inpatches down to the littered beach where children fished with pop topstied to string. Paint flaked from once-bright gazebos. Drinking fountains rose from mud puddles laid with broken brick stepping stones. Along the road the granite face of the Civil War Hero had been spray-painted black. Mrs. Huntington Perry had donated her prize orchids to the Botanical Garden in the time before the riots, when civic money still ran high, but since her death ion the eroding tax base had forced cutbacks that had laid off one skilled gardener a year, so that plants that had survived transplantation from equatorial regions to bloom again in that false paradise now withered, weeds sprang up amid scrupulous identification tags, and fake sunlight flowed for only a few hours per
day. The only thing that remained was the steam vapor, beading the sloping greenhouse windows and filling our nostrils with the moisture and aroma of a rotting world
”
”
Jeffrey Eugenides (The Virgin Suicides)
“
At the sight of Ruth, singing and crying in the moonlight, they say Jacob Wyld crouched wordlessly and planted seeds at her feet, in the earth between the roots of the gum tree. What grew from that night, where Ruth's tears fell to the earth, was a heath of wild vanilla lilies, and an equally heady love affair between Ruth and Jacob.
They met at the river whenever Ruth could get away. He brought her flower seeds and she brought him whatever meager food scraps she could sneak from the house.
Soon Ruth had enough seeds to till a small, shaded corner of dirt near the house, where a nearly dead, lone wattle tree stood. The dirt was so dry it took her a month to soften it with whatever water she could carry from the river. Eventually, the wattle tree exploded into flower, a winter blaze of sweet yellow. Ruth fell to her knees at the sight. The scent floated all the way into town. Bees droned around the tree, drunk on its nectar. Beneath the wattle were circles of green shoots. Ruth sketched each one in her small notebook. As they bloomed, so different to the foxgloves and snowdrops of her mother's songs, Ruth noted down what they meant to her, adapting the Victorian language of flowers. The strange and beautiful native flowers, able to flourish in the harshest conditions, enchanted Ruth; none more so than the deep scarlet flowers with red centres the color of the darkest blood. Meaning, Ruth wrote in her notebook, have courage, take heart.
”
”
Holly Ringland (The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart)
“
Golden Gold Vine Part One There was a miser who prized her, this golden gold vine. This sapling so gilded, her leaflings did shine. The moment he saw her, he let out a whisper of, “mine.” He’d found her in rubble, along a plain road. Unburied, he took her, in pocket he stowed. Back to his house, where he stared at her gleam. Hands curled to covet, want stitched to seam. What a chance this was, the chance for much more. So he planted her there, right outside his front door. Kept under secrets and hidden she lay. This old miser did find her, did steal her away. Brought to the yard, he planted her there. Fenced her all in to shelter her glare. Soon she grew tiny buds, glinting with gold. He plucked them by one, went to town to be sold. He paid off his debts, bought whatever he sought. But it wasn’t enough, whatever he got. For greed had been planted beside her thin roots. Want had leafed out, along with her shoots. Yet although he watered, soon she did wilt. Her golden did dull and worry he spilt. For his most prized possession looked right to be culled. She wasted away, while he fretted and mulled. It wasn't til so angry, he pulled out his hair. Brown clumps all fallen on the vine bare, that her color suddenly glistened, her vine did then surge. She grew ever much from his body he'd purged. Ecstatic, he knew, what he must do. So this miser clip-clipped, and gold flowers then bloomed. His hair he snip-snipped, gladly shedding his plume. For she would not grow without sacrifice. Only pieces of him would ever suffice. For her to keep growing, that was her price. This golden gold vine was the miser’s own vice. To be continued…
”
”
Raven Kennedy (Gild (The Plated Prisoner, #1))
“
Enormous hydrangeas with vibrant pink sponge-like blooms, rhododendrons and impatiens, tall spears of flowering oyster plants jostled together with Jurassic-looking philodendron leaves and tree ferns, a mixed bag all tied by a wild creeper with bell-shaped blue flowers. The damp smell of the garden reminded Jess of places she'd visited in Cornwall, like St. Just in Roseland, where fertile ground spoke of layers of different generations, civilizations past.
At last, beyond the tangled greenery, Jess glimpsed the jutting white chimneys of a large roof. She realized she was holding her breath. She turned a final corner, just like Daniel Miller had done on his way to meet Nora, and there it was. Grand and magnificent, yet even from a distance she could see that the house was in a state of disrepair. It was perched upon a stone plinth that rose about a meter off the ground. A clinging ficus with tiny leaves had grown to cover most of the stones and moss stained the rest, so that the house appeared to sit upon an ocean of greenery. Jess was reminded of the houses in fairy tales, hidden and then forgotten, ignored by the human world only to be reclaimed by nature.
Protruding from one corner of the plinth was a lion's head, its mouth open to reveal a void from which a stream of spring water must once have flowed. On the ground beneath sat a stone bowl, half-filled with stale rainwater. As Jess watched, a blue-breasted fairy wren flew down to perch upon the edge of the bowl; after observing Jess for a moment, the little bird made a graceful dive across the surface of the water, skimming himself clean before disappearing once more into the folds of the garden.
”
”
Kate Morton (Homecoming)
“
Working with chocolate always helps me find the calm centre of my life. It has been with me for so long; nothing here can surprise me. This afternoon I am making pralines, and the little pan of chocolate is almost ready on the burner.
I like to make these pralines by hand. I use a ceramic container over a shallow copper pan: an unwieldy, old-fashioned method, perhaps, but the beans demand special treatment. They have traveled far, and deserve the whole of my attention. Today I am using couverture made from the Criollo bean: its taste is subtle, deceptive; more complex than the stronger flavors of the Forastero; less unpredictable than the hybrid Trinitario. Most of my customers will not know that I am using this rarest of cacao beans; but I prefer it, even though it may be more expensive. The tree is susceptible to disease: the yield is disappointingly low; but the species dates back to the time of the Aztecs, the Olmecs, the Maya. The hybrid Trinitario has all but wiped it out, and yet there are still some suppliers who deal in the ancient currency.
Nowadays I can usually tell where a bean was grown, as well as its species. These come from South America, from a small, organic farm. But for all my skill, I have never seen a flower from the Theobroma cacao tree, which only blooms for a single day, like something in a fairytale. I have seen photographs, of course. In them, the cacao blossom looks something like a passionflower: five-petaled and waxy, but small, like a tomato plant, and without that green and urgent scent. Cacao blossoms are scentless; keeping their spirit inside a pod roughly the shape of a human heart. Today I can feel that heart beating: a quickening inside the copper pan that will soon release a secret.
Half a degree more of heat, and the chocolate will be ready. A filter of steam rises palely from the glossy surface. Half a degree, and the chocolate will be at its most tender and pliant.
”
”
Joanne Harris (The Strawberry Thief (Chocolat, #4))
“
God knows we occasionally feel like we lack potential, but He sees the potential in all of us
”
”
Mary Rodman (Bloom Where You're Planted)
“
I was, however, determined to bloom where I was planted
”
”
Kenneth C. Johnson (The Man of Legends)
“
He showed her a wonderful garden, where all the thoughts and feelings that had ever been thought and felt existed in the form of plants, blooming and green as they passed through people’s minds and lived in their hearts, and then drying up and turning brown and crisp as they passed out of mind, sometimes to bloom again in another season, sometimes gone forever.
”
”
Lev Grossman (The Magician's Land (The Magicians, #3))
“
She keeps walking, so I keep following, making our way down a stone path that leads to a set of tiered gardens. It is magical back here, garden after garden, the first filled with herbs like Mama grows, rosemary and lavender and mint and sage. Beyond that is a rose garden. There must be fifty rosebushes in it, all with different-colored blooms. We keep walking, down to the third tier, where there are tended beds like Daddy's vegetable patch in our backyard.
"Look at this," Keisha says. She stands beside row upon row of little green plants with thick green leaves. She kneels beside one of them and pulls back a leaf. There are small red strawberries growing underneath. She picks one and hands it to me. I've never eaten a strawberry that tastes like this before. It's so rich, with juice like honey. It's nothing like the ones Mama buys at Kroger.
”
”
Susan Rebecca White (A Place at the Table)
“
Bloom Where You Are Planted". This has always been my philosophy in life. Or in the words of Mick Jagger, "you can't always get what you want, but you get what you need.
”
”
Enily Bex
“
A lot of people use the excuse, “I’m negative because I’ve had negative things happen to me.” They’ll offer excuses like these:
“My business didn’t make it.”
“A friend did me wrong.”
“I had a bad childhood.”
“I’m dealing with a sickness, and that’s why I’m sour.”
It’s not your circumstances that make you negative, it’s your attitude about those circumstances. You can take twenty positive people and twenty negative people and give them the exact same problem--put them on the same job, in the same family, and at the same house--and the twenty positive people will come out just as positive and happy, with great attitudes. The negative people will still be just as negative. They can have the same problems and same circumstances, but much different attitudes.
What’s the difference? Positive people have made up their minds to enjoy life. They focus on the possibility, not the problem. They’re grateful for what they have, and they don’t complain about what they don’t have. Positive people know that God is in control, and that nothing happens without His permission. They choose to bloom where they are planted. They’re not waiting to be happy when the situation changes. They’re happy while God is changing the situation.
When you’re positive, you’re passing the test. You’re saying, “God, I trust you. I know you’re fighting my battles.”
If you are not happy where you are, you won’t get where you want to be. Don’t wait for everything to change before you have a good attitude. If you have a good attitude now, God can change the situation.
”
”
Joel Osteen (You Can You Will: 8 Undeniable Qualities of a Winner)
“
Well, I’ll be.” His eyes shone. He took her face in his hands and planted a kiss on her forehead. “You’re a smart one.” Faith stepped backward, the imprint of his lips warm on her skin. She stared at him with widened eyes. He stared back, a flush climbing his cheeks. The scar on his neck pulsed red. “Forgive me. I had no right.” She
”
”
Ann Shorey (Where Wildflowers Bloom (Sisters at Heart, #1))
“
When the Sky Woman was pleased with this new world, the Creator sent First Man down to be her husband and help her care for the new land. At first they were happy, but eventually they began to argue.
After one particularly bitter argument, Sky Woman grabbed her belongings and walked away from her husband. “I am going to find somewhere else to live,” she said. “You are lazy and you ignore me all the time.” She turned her back on him and left.
Soon, First Man began to regret his harsh words, and he tried to catch up with his wife so he could apologize. But after struggling to reach her, he realized that she was simply too far ahead of him. He cried to the Creator, “Slow her down, Creator! I want to tell her how much she means to me!”
The Creator heard his cries and answered, “Is her soul one with yours?”
“We have been one since time began,” First Man answered. “We have been one since you breathed life into us, and we will remain one until the end of time.”
The Creator was touched by the man’s words, and he intervened to stop her. As the woman walked, he caused plants to grow at her feet to slow her down. On one side of her, blackberries sprang up, and on the other, huckleberries, but she avoided them and walked on. He made gooseberries and serviceberries grow on either side of her, but she kept going. Finally the Creator grabbed a handful of strawberry plants that were growing in his garden and cast them down in front of her, where they began to bloom and ripen. The berries looked so good, Sky Woman paused to try one. As she picked and ate the berries, her anger disappeared, and while she filled her basket with the fruit, she began to wish that her husband was there to share it with her. Just then, First Man appeared, his heart full of gladness to have found his wife. With a smile, she took a strawberry from her basket and placed it in his mouth. He smiled with pleasure and gave thanks to the Creator. Together they returned home hand in hand, eating strawberries along the way.
”
”
Philip Stewart (Cherokee (North American Indians Today))
“
We are responsible for helping and encouraging others, for guiding them further along. But we are not responsible for their choices. You cannot force a good attitude upon someone. If they want to live in the pits, unhappy, discouraged, and in self-pity, that’s their choice. Do not allow them to drag you into the pit with them.
If you spend all your time trying to encourage others, trying to make them do what’s right, trying to keep them cheered up, they’ll drain all the life and energy out of you. You cannot bloom if you spend all your time trying to keep others happy. That is not your responsibility.
I learned long ago that not everyone wants to be happy. Some people want to live in the pits. They like the attention it brings them. Make the decision to say: “If you don’t want to be happy, that’s fine, but you can’t keep me from being happy. If you want to live in the pits, that’s your choice, but I’m not diving in there with you. If you want to be a weed, you can be a weed, but I’m a flower. I’m blooming. I’m choosing a good attitude. I’m smiling. I’m happy despite my circumstances.”
When you bloom in the midst of weeds, you sow a seed to inspire and challenge the people around you to come up higher, and that’s a seed for God to take you higher.
You may be in a negative environment right now. The people in your life may not be going places. They may lack goals, dreams, vision, enthusiasm. You may not see how you could ever rise above. It might be easy to just accept and settle where you are and think this is your destiny.
Let me challenge you. This is not your destiny. You were made for more. God has incredible things planned for your future, but you have to do your part and bloom where you’re planted. What does that mean? Develop your gifts and talents. Whatever you do, whatever your occupation is, do your best to be the best. Improve your skills. Read books. Take training courses. Go back to school if you need to. But don’t you dare just sit back and think, I’ll never rise any higher. I’ll never get out of this neighborhood. I guess this is just my lot in life.
Your lot in life is to excel. It’s to go further. It’s to make a difference in this world. Take a stand and say, “I will not settle where I am. I was made for more. I’m a child of the Most High God. I have seeds of greatness on the inside. So I am rising up to be the best I can be right here, knowing God will take me where I’m supposed to go.
”
”
Joel Osteen (Every Day a Friday: How to Be Happier 7 Days a Week)
“
Have you ever thought that God may have you somewhere on purpose so you can be a good example? God may want your light to shine, to brighten the days, to make a difference where you are. Why don’t you take a different perspective?
If you pass that test and bloom where you are planted, God will open new doors. But as long as you are negative and complaining, nothing will change. You are not in position for God to promote you if you are not the best you can be right where you are.
When you are in an uncomfortable situation, realize that either God is doing a work in you or He is using you to do a work in someone else. There is a purpose. There is nothing wrong with asking God to change a situation. But until it happens, you have to trust that where you are is where you should be.
I’ve found that sometimes God has us endure a difficult season to help somebody else. We have to sow a seed and be uncomfortable, treated unfairly. We have to be extremely patient and kind and overlook things just so another person can become what God has created that individual to be.
”
”
Joel Osteen (Every Day a Friday: How to Be Happier 7 Days a Week)
“
Alice marveled at the flowers. Huge, fragrant, God-praising blooms. That rose, transplanted and broken, giving beauty to this ground. The dirt and the seed, the flood and the flame, all writing a story of where we belong. Where roses grow, but more than that. Where roses bloom, and where life---full and glorious at its crescendo---finds its meaning over and over again.
Maybe the important thing was the same root bound them through any circumstance and any ground. And after a few months, or maybe a few years, the rose would bloom again.
The rose always bloomed again.
Because somewhere, deep within that plant, was life---abundantly.
”
”
Ashley Clark (Where the Last Rose Blooms (Heirloom Secrets, #3))
“
Where have you been all this time? Were you off somewhere singing, putting cats to sleep on the porch, drifting about in the rapids of time, the glow of the morning sun and the rain of a summer afternoon beating down as you pass by, your lips shut tight like a bloodsucking plant? The me that is nowhere to be found now, the me that will turn to ash and vanish, turn to darkness and rot- -that me extends a squalid hand at the final moment of this crash, having entirely deserted and abandoned my life. In truth, I was not me. The me that was born into an animal body and lived as a slave to poverty and insult was nothing but the emptiness that had been momentarily bewitched out of me by an evil spirit. That distant me is precious and beautiful. No matter how decadent and corrupt my body becomes, I will, like a desert orchid that blooms once every hundred years, come to you bearing this frigidness toward life.
”
”
Bae Suah (Nowhere to Be Found)
“
One corporate executive faced this spiritual crisis and went on a pilgrimage to Calcutta, India, to seek the advice of Mother Teresa. She spoke sharply with him. She told him to go back home to Wisconsin and be a good CEO so that his company might prosper and keep many people gainfully employed. “Bloom where you're planted,” she told him, so that in Milwaukee the Missionaries of Charity would never find “the poorest of the poor.
”
”
Scott Hahn (Ordinary Work, Extraordinary Grace: My Spiritual Journey in Opus Dei)
“
Flowers remind us that life is full of surprises, so bloom where you planted.
”
”
Earlkirk Adriatico
“
For now, that means your life gonna be here on Cromwell Plantation. That leaves you only one thin’ to do. You gots to live as hard as you can where you be. You gots to look deep inside and find out all the thin’s you got to give the world. Then you got to give it. You can’t spend all your days lookin’ backward, and you can’t spend all your days lookin’ forward. It’s today that counts, Rose. Yous got to bloom where you be planted. God’s got you planted here for now.
”
”
Virginia Gaffney (Storm Clouds Rolling In (Bregdan Chronicles, #1))
“
He showed her a wonderful garden, where all the thoughts and feelings that had ever been thought and felt existed in the form of plants, blooming and green as they passed through people’s minds and lived in their hearts, and then drying up and turning brown and crisp as they passed out of mind, sometimes to bloom again in another season, sometimes gone forever. It
”
”
Lev Grossman (The Magician's Land (The Magicians, #3))
“
Positive people know that God is in control, and that nothing happens without His permission. They choose to bloom where they are planted. They’re not waiting to be happy when the situation changes.
”
”
Joel Osteen (You Can, You Will: 8 Undeniable Qualities of a Winner)
“
Ode 11
My heart was pruned and its flower appeared, then grace sprang up in it, and my heart produced fruits for the Lord.
For the Most High circumcised me by His Holy Spirit, then He uncovered my inward being towards Him, and filled me with His love.
And His circumcising became my salvation, and I ran in the Way, in His peace, in the way of truth.
From the beginning until the end I received His knowledge.
And I was established upon the rock of truth, where He had set me.
And speaking waters touched my lips from the fountain of the Lord generously.
And so I drank and became intoxicated, from the living water that does not die.
And my intoxication did not cause ignorance, but I abandoned vanity,
And turned toward the Most High, my God, and was enriched by His favors.
And I rejected the folly cast upon the earth, and stripped it off and cast it from me.
And the Lord renewed me with His garment, and possessed me by His light.
And from above He gave me immortal rest, and I became like the land that blossoms and rejoices in its fruits.
And the Lord is like the sun upon the face of the land.
My eyes were enlightened, and my face received the dew;
And my breath was refreshed by the pleasant fragrance of the Lord.
And He took me to His Paradise, wherein is the wealth of the Lord's pleasure.
I beheld blooming and fruit-bearing trees,
And self-grown was their crown.
Their branches were sprouting and their fruits were shining.
From an immortal land were their roots.
And a river of gladness was irrigating them,
And round about them in the land of eternal life.
Then I worshipped the Lord because of His magnificence.
And I said, Blessed, O Lord, are they who are planted in Your land, and who have a place in Your Paradise;
And who grow in the growth of Your trees, and have passed from darkness into light.
Behold, all Your laborers are fair, they who work good works, and turn from wickedness to your pleasantness.
For the pungent odor of the trees is changed in Your land,
And everything becomes a remnant of Yourself. Blessed are the workers of Your waters, and eternal memorials of Your faithful servants.
Indeed, there is much room in Your Paradise. And there is nothing in it which is barren, but everything is filled with fruit.
Glory be to You, O God, the delight of Paradise for ever.
Hallelujah.
”
”
Solomon
“
Neruda's Best Love Poem
I do not love you...
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way than this:
where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
”
”
Beryl Dov
“
The flower of the ginger is superb and regal, but if we focus on nurturing the ginger plant to bloom we are unable to harvest its root. Enjoying the exquisite beauty of the plant will prevent us from unlocking its true potential—the nutrients secretly stored beyond the reach of the sun. Why care about trivial matters such as external beauty? What matters lies beneath the surface. What a waste! She is much more beautiful on the inside where she has so much more to give to the world.
”
”
Jamie Le Fay (Escape (Ahe'ey, #4))
“
Bloom where you're planted." - Mary Engelbreit
”
”
Lin Stepp
“
Bloom where you are planted.
”
”
Julie Henning
“
bloom where you are planted.
”
”
Rhonda Hetzel (Down to Earth: A Guide to Simple Living)
“
Bloom where you’re planted. Don’t make excuses. Don’t go through life thinking, I’ve got a disadvantage. I’ve got too many obstacles. I’m the wrong nationality. I come from the wrong family. I don’t have the connections. I could never get out of this environment.
You may not see how you will rise above, but God sees. He already has a way. Your destiny is not determined by how you were raised, or by your circumstances, or by how many odds are against you; your destiny is determined by the Creator of the universe. And if you take what God has given you and make the most of it, like Chi Chi did, God will open doors. He will give you good breaks, and He will place the right people across your path.
Get rid of your excuses. Quit waiting for things to change. Sow a seed and be happy right now. When you’re in difficult times, remember: Either God is doing a work in you or He’s using you to do a work in someone else. As long as you’re in faith, where you are is where you’re supposed to be.
Quit fighting to go somewhere else. Be the best you can be right where you are. If you make this decision to bloom where you’re planted, you pass the test. God promises He will pour out His blessings and favor. You’ll not only live happy, but also God will take you places you’ve never even dreamed of.
”
”
Joel Osteen (Every Day a Friday: How to Be Happier 7 Days a Week)
“
Scripture says God has given us the power to enjoy our work. Quit telling yourself, I can’t be happy here. I don’t like my job. I don’t like the people. I can’t wait till God opens up something new. You are making yourself miserable.
Start telling yourself, I have the power to enjoy this job. I’ll have a great day. I’ll enjoy the people. I’ll be productive. I’ll bloom right here where God has planted me.
Sometimes the reason you are not happy on the job is that you are being asked to do things you don’t want to do. But this is important: The person paying you may like things done a certain way. You may not agree. You may think you can do something better another way, but since the boss is approving the check, you’ll need to do what the boss wants you to do. You have to be big enough to submit to the authority and do what you are asked with a good attitude, without always questioning, without walking away mumbling under your breath, “They just don’t know what they’re talking about.
”
”
Joel Osteen (Every Day a Friday: How to Be Happier 7 Days a Week)
“
Bloom where you are planted
”
”
Mary Engelbreit
“
It’s the truth. Children become what their parents are. Nerea had a shitty mother who left her with me, and she grew up hard; you got a good mother who raised you, and you grew up kind. Me? I was raised by a monstrous man, so that’s what I became.” Amara shook her head, unable to believe what she was hearing. “We are not our parents, Xavier. Children are… like wildflowers. They may be planted in one place but they grow where their hearts lead. It’s not where we’re planted but where we bloom that defines us.
”
”
RuNyx (The Emperor (Dark Verse, #3))
“
Children are… like wildflowers. They may be planted in one place but they grow where their hearts lead. It’s not where we’re planted but where we bloom that defines us.
”
”
RuNyx (The Emperor (Dark Verse, #3))
“
Gdmng, Sunshine! This morning, I offer a gentle reminder: even when everything sucks, pretend you’re a wildflower & push through anyway.
Isn’t it amazing how wildflowers just, like, grow anywhere & bring beauty to the space that they inhabit?? So inspiring!
Darling listen – this isn’t about blind optimism; it’s about embracing a spirit of wildflower. Let you truly believe you have a wildflower heart within you, meant to blossom freely, resiliently & untamed.
May this unearth the hope that lies within you. Sweetheart, in this season of growing, I want you to learn to embrace this beautiful characteristic & the tough sides of yourself. No matter how chaotic it is, let you spring up, grow & expand in the middle of nowhere like a wildflower.
May you bloom in a way you are meant to & bring beauty to this world simply with your thoughts, words & actions.. Blessings!
”
”
Rajesh Goyal, राजेश गोयल
“
The minister said, “It’s like this! The people of the world are all making their way toward God on different sides of the mountain. When we get to the top, God will sort it all out.” He went on to say, “According to Ephesians 6:2, God’s first commandment to children everywhere is to obey their parents. If your parents are Amish, obey and follow their teachings. If you were born and raised in some other religious system, obey and follow their teachings.” And then the preacher concluded by giving out the ever famous quote: “Bloom where God planted you and you will be in the center of His will.
”
”
Joe Keim (My People, the Amish: The True Story of an Amish Father and Son)
“
Running my hands over the dirt, I suddenly feel an unfamiliar, electric charge buzzing through my fingertips. I jump back, hands trembling.
"Are you all right?" Sebastian asks, his green eyes glancing down at me with concern.
"Mm-hmm." I look away in embarrassment before returning to my task, gingerly spreading more dirt over the seeds. The buzzing shoots through my hands once again and my eyes squeeze shut in pain.
And then I hear Sebastian gasp. I open my eyes as Lucia shouts, "Where did her flower come from? Is this a trick?"
Bewildered, I glance in front of me---and stifle a scream.
A glorious Canterbury bell stands in full bloom, where moments ago there were only seeds. Its violet petals are damp from the water I just sprinkled over the dirt, and I gape at the impossible sight in disbelief.
”
”
Alexandra Monir (Suspicion)
“
What if you have a pen and you can sketch a dream of another's?
Sounds beautiful, right? It is even more wonderfully beautiful when you actually do it, for dreams are connected like all of our souls. Dreams are like little stars of our soul, and when you paint one with the stardust of your soul, be it yours or another's, the sky of your soul would always sparkle with the light of a tranquil smile.
There is nothing more valuable than holding a hand and telling that person that you believe in that soul and that nothing is truly impossible, after all each and every soul is a reflection of this infinite Universe. There is no treasure richer than a smile of a heart, and when you sprinkle your goodness around and embrace all with the bliss of your own soul, with the love of your heart and the light of your mind, your door of happiness would always be unlocked where you can walk in anytime, and no matter how dark this cave of reality might be, the sky inside that door is always the brightest with a thousand sunshine of an infinite halo of dreams.
I know and I have seen that when you are good while most of the people around would embrace you, get inspired and try to walk with you, there would also be a few who would doubt you and even try to pull you down by demotivating or derogatory words but do not let them win over your stardust, rather shine so bright that even their darkness is eaten up by your light.
Let your good heart be your strength and walk with courage that God is the ultimate witness and the judge of all. Don't even halt for a second to think if you would help another, no matter how distant that person might be, in fact even if that person hasn't been good to you, or scarred you, you stay true to your path and treat everyone with compassion and love and know that in the book of Life every chapter finds a beginning and an ending, you paint that ending with a smile on the heart of every person you meet, knowing that smiles are the brightest sunshine of this Universe.
The world might try to distract you and your mind might try to tell you that it doesn't matter, but then stay focused on this journey of Love and listen to your heart who knows that everything matters at the end of the day, after all nothing goes in waste ever.
Help everyone even if that costs you something, because your help might just bring the most needed smile in a heart and every smile shines with a thousand radiance.
Go an extra mile, and stay connected with every soul you have met in this voyage of Life because everyone you have come across has shaped your soul and your destination bit by bit.
Value friends and family and say thank you and sorry often, not as a formality but as a reminder that every action or thought counts, knowing that relationships bloom like a watered plant.
Resonate love and light and stay kind, no matter what falls on your path, because eventually all it takes is an iota of love to declutter a cloud of darkness.
Let the goodness of your heart be your guide and keep holding that pen to sketch a dream of another's, because every dream is a painting of a soul in the Infinite canvas of this beautiful Universe.
So, I decide to hold the pen and sketch a dream of another's. Do you?
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Debatrayee Banerjee
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their teachings. If you were born and raised in some other religious system, obey and follow their teachings.” And then the preacher concluded by giving out the ever famous quote: “Bloom where God planted you and you will be in the center of His will.
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Joe Keim (My People, the Amish: The True Story of an Amish Father and Son)
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They nailed their stakes into the earth of my life, those farmers. They knew the place in me where the river stopped, and they marked it with a new name. Shantaram Kishan Kharre. I don’t know if they found that name in the heart of the man they believed me to be, or if they planted it there, like a wishing tree, to bloom and grow. Whatever the case, whether they discovered that peace or created it, the truth is that the man I am was born in those moments, as I stood near the flood sticks with my face lifted to the chrismal rain. Shantaram. The better man that, slowly, and much too late, I began to be.
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Gregory David Roberts
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She paused, taking in the display of scarlet pelargoniums, the topiary lion painstakingly created by Hoskins, the head gardener, and the tall monkey-puzzle tree that her father had planted on the occasion of her birth twenty-five years before. She noticed bees flitting from bloom to bloom, filling the air with the sound of their low hum, and over that the bright squawks of a pair of choughs. In the distance, the kitchen garden beckoned, sunlight reflecting off the panes of the glasshouse, where pineapples and tomatoes grew in the forced tropical heat.
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Kayte Nunn
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We'd hardly stepped three feet outside when Bee gasped, pointing to the garden to our right.
"Henry!" she exclaimed, surveying hundreds of delicate light green leaves that had pushed up from the soil in grand formation, showcasing a carpet of tiny lavender-colored flowers, with dark purple centers.
Bee looked astonished. "How did they... where did they come from?"
Henry shook his head. "I noticed them two weeks ago. They just appeared."
Bee turned to me, and upon seeing my confused face, she offered an explanation. "They're wood violets," she said. "I haven't seen them on the island since..."
"They're very rare," Henry said, filling the void that Bee had left when her voice trailed off. "You can't plant them, for they won't grow. They have to choose you."
Bee's eyes met Henry's, and she smiled, a gentle, forgiving smile. It warmed me to see it. "Evelyn has a theory about these flowers," she said, pausing as if to pull a dusty memory off a shelf in her mind, handling it with great care. "Yes," she said, the memory in plain view. "She used to say they grow where they are needed, that they signal healing, and hope.
It's ridiculous, isn't it, Henry, to think that violets can know," Bee continued.
Henry nodded. "Harebrained," he said in agreement.
Bee shook her head in disbelief. "And to see them in bloom, in March of all months..."
Henry nodded. "I know."
Neither took their eyes off the petals before them, so fragile, yet in great numbers stalwart and determined.
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Sarah Jio (The Violets of March)
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Frank’s findings caught the eye of J.R.R. Tolkien, who had a well-known fondness for plants, and trees in particular. Mycorrhizal fungi soon found their way into The Lord of the Rings. “For you little gardener and lover of trees,” said the elf Galadriel to the hobbit Sam Gamgee, “I have only a small gift…In this box there is earth from my orchard…if you keep it and see your home again at last, then perhaps it may reward you. Though you should find all barren and laid waste, there will be few gardens in Middle-earth that will bloom like your garden, if you sprinkle this earth there.” When he finally returned home to find a devastated Shire: Sam Gamgee planted saplings in all the places where specially beautiful or beloved trees had been destroyed, and he put a grain of the precious dust from Galadriel in the soil at the root of each…All through the winter he remained as patient as he could, and tried to restrain himself from going round constantly to see if anything was happening. Spring surpassed his wildest hopes. His trees began to sprout and grow, as if time was in a hurry and wished to make one year do for twenty.
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Merlin Sheldrake (Entangled Life: How Fungi Make Our Worlds, Change Our Minds & Shape Our Futures)
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One spring, in a rain shower, I dug up all my tulips in full bloom and wandered around the yard holding them by their two-foot necks, with the bulb and roots dangling down and the tulip flowers staring up at me with their big Cyclops-like eyes. I decided, based on color, just where to relocate each one. If you move plants in the rain, they hardly even know it, and they did just fine. Today is a perfect snail-letting-go day.
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Elisabeth Tova Bailey (The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating)
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Toyotomi’s extravagant parade and party are re-created at the temple every April in the temple gardens, where more than 1,000 cherry trees now bloom.
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Naoko Abe (The Sakura Obsession: The Incredible Story of the Plant Hunter Who Saved Japan's Cherry Blossoms)