Photography Flower Quotes

I know the expression love bloomed is metaphorical, but in my heart in this moment, there is one badass flower, captured in time-lapse photography, going from bud to wild radiant blossom in ten seconds flat.

With flowers the sex is up-front and x-rated.

without your colors, my world would always be like night, it would be so much colder, so dark and colorless...i'd be living in a black and white picture where all the flowers have closed up

Find the light of beauty even in the shadows of darkness.

I've often thought about how all these different life forms occupy the same space as me during a given moment and how easy it can be to get so wrapped up in your own world you forget you're part of something larger and marvelous.

i found my flower, there she was, she caught my eye and captured my heart. i listened to her...she called out to me with her colors and warmth, held me with her softness and beauty, silently asking only that i let her grow, and let her be, and love her for who she was: my flower

You, too, can observe the beauty of flowers and nature through the windows of your life if you are willing to open them.

What you will see are things that caught my eye and made me stop in my tracks to take a closer look.

Photography acquires a certain dignity, which it does not normally have, when it is not just a reproduction of reality but can show us things that no longer exist.

we are made of the sea, of the stars, of the flowers, of the sand, of the breeze...that's why it is not correct to say we are in love, for we are in everything, we are love

Obviously, it's a huge deal when your little girl starts to turn into a woman, but the change has a gentle fluidity, so it seems to happen like time-lapse photography of a flower blooming.

Gentlefolks in general have a very awkward rock ahead in life - the rock ahead of their own idleness. Their lives being, for the most part, passed in looking about them for something to do, it is curious to see - especially when their tastes are of what is called the intellectual sort - how often they drift blindfold into some nasty pursuit. [...] But there! the poor souls must get through the time, you see - they must get through the time. You dabbled in nasty mud, and made pies, when you were a child; and you dabble in nasty science, and dissect spiders, and spoil flowers, when you grow up. In the one case and in the other, the secret of it is, that you have got nothing to think of in your poor empty head, and nothing to do with your poor idle hands. And so it ends in your spoiling canvas with paints, and making a smell in the house; or in keeping tadpoles in a glass box full of dirty water, and turning everybody's stomach in the house; or in chipping off bits of stone here, there, and everywhere, and dropping grit into all the victuals in the house; or in staining your fingers in the pursuit of photography, and doing justice without mercy on everybody's face in the house. It often falls heavy enough, no doubt, on people who are really obliged to get their living, to be forced to work for the clothes that cover them, the roof that shelters them, and the food that keeps them going. But compare the hardest day's work that you ever did with the idleness that splits flowers and pokes its way into spiders' stomachs, and thank your stars that your head has got something it must think of, and your hands something that they must do.

he could smell her petals, with their warming colors. and hear her silent wisdom as he listened to those colors...and her beauty, behold! wow; oh, how he wanted so badly to keep her and cherish her...but he dare not take her away from the other purple flowers, she was not his to take. because it was there that she was needed, and there he would let her be, standing out above the crowd, where she belonged

Because English has so many words of foreign origin, and words that look the same but mean something different depending on their context, and words that are in flux, opening and closing like flowers in time-lapse photography, the human element is especially important if we are to stay on top of the computers, which, in their determination to do our job for us, make decisions so subversive that even professional wordsmiths are taken by surprise.

Photographers are writers- Writers are photographers: we catch a glimpse of something beautiful – a flower, a glance, a window – and catch it into our camera or writing lens: add a bit of glimmer, a ghost of shadow, allowing the background to sink into fuzziness while focusing on the sharp beauty; thus, we highlight the romance of life.

He nods, looking through the pictures on the screen on the back of his camera. Some relationships can only exist as memories. But unlike ephemeral digital images that can be sorted and deleted, we can’t erase the past. We have to learn to live with all the images that are stored in love's archive, memories tagged good and bad. No Photoshopping. Accept the negative before moving forward.

experiment at Temple Buell College in Denver where healthy flowers were put in three separate glass cases. Acid rock music was piped into one case, soft East Indian sitar music was piped into the second case, and the third had no music. A CBS camera crew recorded the experiment, using time-lapse photography. At the end of two weeks, the flowers exposed to the rock music were dead, the group with no music was growing normally, and the ones that heard the sitar music had turned into beautiful blooms, with stems and flowers reaching toward the source

Yes. They did an experiment at Temple Buell College in Denver where healthy flowers were put in three separate glass cases. Acid rock music was piped into one case, soft East Indian sitar music was piped into the second case, and the third had no music. A CBS camera crew recorded the experiment, using time-lapse photography. At the end of two weeks, the flowers exposed to the rock music were dead, the group with no music was growing normally, and the ones that heard the sitar music had turned into beautiful blooms, with stems and flowers reaching toward the source

Neal’s face was like a flower blooming–you’d need time-lapse photography to really see it in action. But Georgie’d become such a student of his face, she could read most of the twitches.

A framed print of a white flower in a jar standing in front of a range of mountains in varying shades of blue brightened the wall opposite the window, which admitted enough sunlight to make the wooden surfaces of the sideboard gleam. Mrs. Johnson noticed Susan looking at it. “It’s a Hockney print,” she said proudly. “We bought it at the photography museum when we went to see his exhibition. It lightens up the place a bit, doesn’t it? He’s a local lad, you know, Hockney.” Her accent sounded vaguely posh and wholly put on. “Yes,” said Susan. She remembered Sandra Banks telling her about Hockney once. A local lad he might be, but he lived near the sea now in Southern California, a far cry from Bradford. “It’s very nice,” she added. “I think so,” said Mrs. Johnson. “I’ve always had an eye for a good painting, you know. Sometimes I think if I’d stuck it and not…” she looked around. “Well,…it’s too late for that now, isn’t it? A cup of tea?

When burdened by the feeling that there are too many photographs in the world, I ask myself if there are too many flowers.

There is so much beauty in this world. I wish people would stop and see it. If we all would see this beauty, there would be no violence and no hurting each other. Because when our hearts are filled with love and care, we would only help and love each other. There would be no war, abuse, poisoning nature, and so much pain. Through my photos, I wish to inspire people to be their full potential, to live their lives to the fullest, to stop and admire the beauty right in front of them or under their feet, to feel, to live, to love. Through my photos, I wish to bring people back to nature. When they feel sand under their feet, feel sunshine on their skin, smell a lovely flower, see a stunning sunset, watch or take care of animals, they will stop poisoning the earth, and destroy what is part of them. Why destroy our own home?” – Ineta Love Wonder, I Love Wonder

as a flower, she knew he was no god, because he existed. he just was. and he was always there for her. his being was the heart-shaped light from the way-beyond. and when she saw his glow, felt his warmth, and absorbed his energy into her delicate petals, she now touched magic. and she knew with such a certainty, finally, what love truly was

when you are one with the special one, love each other so freely, let your love be a moving sea of flowers between the shores of your souls

when you jump in, love is the sea...and in a sea of love, sometimes the tides cannot seem to carry you close enough, and other times they slam you into the shore, so always be the flower on the wave, carrying your tidings under your petals, joyful to be floating no matter where the sea might take you

Photography is my passion; flower photography is my art.

thank you, flower...for showing me how to grow even while being blocked from the sun by the tall redwoods, having to find ways around and through, so my sunshine heart could glow into me, becoming the blossom that is watered and needed, and listened to, and sung to sleep in peaceful, loving arms. thank you for awakening me to my life

i dreamed, to breath, to sigh, to float, above clouds, over watertops, through fields of flowers, across sunrise and sunset painting romance impressions, all throughout my every atom. for the longest time, i waited, for my dream flower

Every day is a writing day. I get to my desk between 8 and 8:30 in the morning and then work through until 6pm, and then normally I'll take up whatever will be happening in the evening, usually painting or photography. I do about four drafts total. I do handwritten drafts because I don't type and I have no wish to type. I mean, I know how to type, but I have no interest in putting the words down that way. Maybe that's because I'm an artist and because I've always used a pen and so there's a sort of natural feel to it. I don't know how familiar you are with Blake's illuminated texts, but you know very often he'll literally make words flower. It's really this glorious thing in bringing words and pictures into the same place, the same space.