Lei Flower Quotes

I am your new love to be kissed My flower, my lei, my love for you Is unforgettable . . .

Another of Shantideva’s wise sentences rang in Chongan’s mind: “May those whose hell it is to hate and hurt be turned into lovers bringing flowers.” Chongan imagined that the remains of Shantideva’s holy ribs could transform Satan rather than vice versa.

Durga wore a simple sea-green dress and a lei of lotus flowers. . . “Take this,” it has no special power except that the blooms will not fade, but it will serve a purpose on your voyage. I want you to learn the lesson of the lotus. This flower springs forth from muddy waters. It raises its delicate petals to the sun and perfumes the world while, at the same time, its roots cling to the elemental muck, the very essence of the mortal experience. Without that soil, the flower would wither and die.” She placed the lei over my neck. “Dig down and grow strong roots, my daughter, for you will stretch forth, break out of the waters and find peace on the calm surface at last. You will discover that if you hadn’t stretched, you would have drowned in the deep, never to blossom or share your gift with others.

I waited day and night for summer To gather me in its net. Waited For my wrongs to be sloughed away. One night, in a storm, I swallowed Thunderbolts and fallen flowers. Now my soul is broken but fragrant.

Nancy taught two hens to help her sort flowers to make leis. She set them down by a basket of three colors of plastic flowers. One hen quickly pulled out all the red flowers, and another the white ones, leaving the pink flowers in the basket.

Fiori? Sì, fiori, dal momento che non si fidava del proprio gusto in fatto di gioielli; fiori a profusione, rose, orchidee, per festeggiare quello che era, chiamiamo pure le cose col loro nome, un avvenimento: quel sentimento ch’egli aveva provato per lei quando, a tavola, era corso il nome di Peter Walsh; quel sentimento del quale non parlavano mai; per anni non ne avevano parlato; cosa che, egli pensava prendendo le rose bianche e rosse (un gran fascio avvolto in carta velina), è il più grave errore che si possa commettere al mondo. Giunge il momento in cui è troppo tardi per parlarne; si è troppo timidi per farne parola, pensava Richard intascando gli spiccioli del resto; e si avviò con l’enorme mazzo stretto al petto verso Westminster, per dire chiaro e tondo a Clarissa (ne pensasse pure ciò che voleva) porgendole i fiori: Ti amo.

Ora, as lembranças de amor não abrem exceção às leis gerais da memória, regidas também estas pelas leis mais gerais do hábito. Como o hábito enfraquece tudo, o que melhor nos recorda uma criatura é justamente o que havíamos esquecido (porque era insignificante e assim lhe havíamos deixado toda a sua força). Eis porque a maior parte da nossa memória está fora de nós, numa viração de chuva, num cheiro de quarto fechado ou no cheiro de uma primeira labareda, em toda parte onde encontramos de nós mesmos o que a nossa inteligência desdenhara, por não lhe achar utilidade, a última reserva do passado, a melhor, aquela que, quando todas as nossas lágrimas parecem estancadas, ainda sabe fazer-nos chorar. Fora de nós? Em nós, para melhor dizer, mas oculta a nossos próprios olhares, num esquecimento mais ou menos prolongado. Graças tão somente a esse olvido é que podemos de tempos a tempos reencontrar o ser que fomos, colocarmo-nos perante as coisas como o estava aquele ser, sofrer de novo porque não mais somos nós, mas ele, e porque ele amava o que nos é agora indiferente.

In the old days, when Hawaiians wanted to give a gift, they doesn't have Safeway. Or any money. They had to take from nature what the gods gave them. Gather the flowers, make the twine, string the flowers. Lots of time and effort. We do the work just to say, 'I love you.' No meaning when we buy a lei in the supermarket.

...A majestic wahine with small, bare feet, a grand, swinging, deliberate gait, hibiscus blossoms in her flowing hair, and a lei of yellow flowers flowing over her holoku, marching through these streets, has a tragic grandeur of appearance, which makes the diminutive, fair-skinned haole, tottering along hesitatingly in high-heeled shoes, look grotesque by comparison. Isabella Bird

Year after year, flowers thrive. Sea gives way to land, land to sea. Humanity creates, ghosts endure. The soul in the cloud dances quietly.

Left unsatisfied, the craving for sensations can become an actual hunger. A few years ago on a trip to Kauai, I noticed something funny. Five days in, I hadn’t had a single snack between meals. This was strange because, at home, I’m an inveterate grazer. There’s nearly always a packet of trail mix or a bowl of popcorn on my desk. But on this vacation, not a nibble. I realized that in Hawaii I was surrounded all day by the lush textures of the jungle, the whoosh of the ocean, and the smell of salt water. I had my feet in volcanic sand and a lei of plumeria flowers around my neck. I was satiated, head to toe. Sure enough, by 11:00 a.m. on that first day back in the office, I had my head in the snack cabinet, hunting for almonds. People are quick to blame habits, and to dismiss this as mindless eating, but I believe that ignores the root cause. In our humdrum environments, we live with a sensorial hunger, and without any other means to satisfy it, we feed it.