Valentines Flowers Quotes

It wouldn't be my move," Jace agreed. "First the candy and flowers, then the apology letters, then the ravenous demon hordes. In that order.

So many events and moments that seemed insignificant add up. I remember how for the last Valentine´s Day, N gave flowers but no card. In restaurants, he looked off into the middle distance while my hand would creep across the table to hold his. He would always let go first. I realize I can´t remember his last spontaneous gesture of affection.

I stood there for a moment, playing emotional catch-up.He drove down from the Navarre House just to surprise me with flowers.And not It's -Valentines's Day-and-I-feel-olbligated flowers.These were just-because flowers.

[Anna] In February, I woke up from a nap. A bouquet of flowers gathered from the various bushes and shrubs scattered around the island lay on the blanket beside me, a small length of rope wound around their stems. I found T.J. down at the shore. “Someone’s been checking the calendar.” He grinned. “I didn’t want to miss Valentine’s Day.” I kissed him. “You’re sweet to me.” Pulling me closer, he said, “It’s not hard, Anna.” I stared into T.J.’s eyes, and he started to sway. My arms went around his neck and we danced, moving in a circle, the sand soft and warm under our feet. “You don’t need music, do you?” “No,” T.J. said. “But I do need you.

Did you send candy and flowers on Valentine's Day, Wells? It's okay, you know. He was a saint.

Beauties are like flowers, and I, like a bee, can't help but feel drawn to each one I see.

Then, Valentine’s Day came. There was a dance, and balloons and flowers and cheaply made rings and all sorts of lame teddy bears and stuffed animals, as if teenagers can be wooed with the same shit as five-year-olds. It was the Dietzes’ most hated holiday of the year, too, because it dealt with the consumerization of something sacred. Mom and Dad had agreed never to buy each other anything on the day. It was a false, Hallmark holiday. A sham. A moneymaking sideshow for insecure couples who didn’t have true love. I agreed with this, for the most part.

I don't do flowers remember? But I want more too

She is the sensitivity of the dew drops. She is the innocence of the blooming Lily. She is the calm of the sylvan lake. She is the beautiful light of the candle flame. She is the wildness of the Kadupul flower. She is the magic of the full moon night!

People stick hearts on Valentine's cards and get married in white dresses and give each other flowers. They think love is every-thing going right. That's not love. That's self-indulgence. That's good luck. Love is when you walk into the burning building. Love is when the person who means most to you in the world is breathing through a mask and pissing in a bag. Love is when they no longer know your name.

Love lets me see the roses in life. Reality lets me see that the rose wilted long before my love.

The most beautiful flower of this world doesn't rise on a plant or tree; it blossoms in my heart, and that's you.

Kiss me with love like a butterfly kisses flowers to find and taste the nectar of life.

A flower is a gift of love from the universe given to you. So cherish it, enjoy it with a full blissful heart.

You can't take love for granted! You need to be patient. And just as flowers take time to blossom, love will one day blossom in your heart!

Love blooms like a flower, but only the expression of love fills it with fragrance

As a teenager Valentine’s Day was a stressful time. Either I didn’t have a “girlfriend” and was forced to endure a day of hearts, cards and stuffed animals parading through my loneliness or even worse I had a “girlfriend” and felt pressure to provide just the right combination of cards, candy and stuffed animals to show the appropriate level of affection. Are flowers and a card enough? Should I get her balloons? Does she like balloons? If I don’t get her candy will she think I think she’s fat? Why did I want a girlfriend again? Valentine’s Day was a report card on how you were, or were not in some sad cases, perceived as “boyfriend” material.

She is the fragrance of a dozen jasmines.

Women are like beautiful flowers. Only when you love them and take good care of them will they fully bloom into the beautiful flowers that they are.

Even Death stops and smells the roses on Valentine's Day.

Oh my Valentine! I was waiting for you next to my wide open window just as a flower bud waits for the spring air to bloom.

Soulmate is not who always brings you flowers. Soulmate is who gets rid of the flowers because they know you are allergic to flowers.

The lotus flower shall sit upon the waters of my heart.

Touch of the wind, touch of the water, touch of the spring flowers… none of these are as great as the touch of love!

Pink petals will always caress the blossom of my heart.

Picnic, Lightning It is possible to be struck by a meteor or a single-engine plane while reading in a chair at home. Safes drop from rooftops and flatten the odd pedestrian mostly within the panels of the comics, but still, we know it is possible, as well as the flash of summer lightning, the thermos toppling over, spilling out on the grass. And we know the message can be delivered from within. The heart, no valentine, decides to quit after lunch, the power shut off like a switch, or a tiny dark ship is unmoored into the flow of the body’s rivers, the brain a monastery, defenseless on the shore. This is what I think about when I shovel compost into a wheelbarrow, and when I fill the long flower boxes, then press into rows the limp roots of red impatiens— the instant hand of Death always ready to burst forth from the sleeve of his voluminous cloak. Then the soil is full of marvels, bits of leaf like flakes off a fresco, red-brown pine needles, a beetle quick to burrow back under the loam. Then the wheelbarrow is a wilder blue, the clouds a brighter white, and all I hear is the rasp of the steel edge against a round stone, the small plants singing with lifted faces, and the click of the sundial as one hour sweeps into the next.

The rose is not the most beautiful flower of this world. But it's you. Why ? because, Rose can just set the mood happy, but your gorgeous beauty, your sexy fragrance and your pretty smile, set happy, all feelings, heart and soul

In The Garret Four little chests all in a row, Dim with dust, and worn by time, All fashioned and filled, long ago, By children now in their prime. Four little keys hung side by side, With faded ribbons, brave and gay When fastened there, with childish pride, Long ago, on a rainy day. Four little names, one on each lid, Carved out by a boyish hand, And underneath there lieth hid Histories of the happy band Once playing here, and pausing oft To hear the sweet refrain, That came and went on the roof aloft, In the falling summer rain. 'Meg' on the first lid, smooth and fair. I look in with loving eyes, For folded here, with well-known care, A goodly gathering lies, The record of a peaceful life-- Gifts to gentle child and girl, A bridal gown, lines to a wife, A tiny shoe, a baby curl. No toys in this first chest remain, For all are carried away, In their old age, to join again In another small Meg's play. Ah, happy mother! Well I know You hear, like a sweet refrain, Lullabies ever soft and low In the falling summer rain. 'Jo' on the next lid, scratched and worn, And within a motley store Of headless dolls, of schoolbooks torn, Birds and beasts that speak no more, Spoils brought home from the fairy ground Only trod by youthful feet, Dreams of a future never found, Memories of a past still sweet, Half-writ poems, stories wild, April letters, warm and cold, Diaries of a wilful child, Hints of a woman early old, A woman in a lonely home, Hearing, like a sad refrain-- 'Be worthy, love, and love will come,' In the falling summer rain. My Beth! the dust is always swept From the lid that bears your name, As if by loving eyes that wept, By careful hands that often came. Death canonized for us one saint, Ever less human than divine, And still we lay, with tender plaint, Relics in this household shrine-- The silver bell, so seldom rung, The little cap which last she wore, The fair, dead Catherine that hung By angels borne above her door. The songs she sang, without lament, In her prison-house of pain, Forever are they sweetly blent With the falling summer rain. Upon the last lid's polished field-- Legend now both fair and true A gallant knight bears on his shield, 'Amy' in letters gold and blue. Within lie snoods that bound her hair, Slippers that have danced their last, Faded flowers laid by with care, Fans whose airy toils are past, Gay valentines, all ardent flames, Trifles that have borne their part In girlish hopes and fears and shames, The record of a maiden heart Now learning fairer, truer spells, Hearing, like a blithe refrain, The silver sound of bridal bells In the falling summer rain. Four little chests all in a row, Dim with dust, and worn by time, Four women, taught by weal and woe To love and labor in their prime. Four sisters, parted for an hour, None lost, one only gone before, Made by love's immortal power, Nearest and dearest evermore. Oh, when these hidden stores of ours Lie open to the Father's sight, May they be rich in golden hours, Deeds that show fairer for the light, Lives whose brave music long shall ring, Like a spirit-stirring strain, Souls that shall gladly soar and sing In the long sunshine after rain

What mattered more was the feeling, a rich sweet undertow so commanding that in class, on the school bus, lying in bed trying to think of something safe or pleasant, some environment or configuration where my chest wasn’t tight with anxiety, all I had to do was sink into the blood-warm current and let myself spin away to the secret place where everything was all right. Cinnamon-colored walls, rain on the windowpanes, vast quiet and a sense of depth and distance, like the varnish over the background of a nineteenth-century painting. Rugs worn to threads, painted Japanese fans and antique valentines flickering in candlelight, Pierrots and doves and flower-garlanded hearts. Pippa’s face pale in the dark.

Preserved Children This recipe was on a plaque hanging in a friend’s kitchen. You will need: one half dozen small children one large field one sunny day 2-3 small dogs Mix the children and the dogs together. Dot them over the large field and stir in the sunny day. Sprinkle the field with flowers. Spread with a clear blue sky. Bake in the sun until brown.

I am tired of sinking down to a lower place to be with men. I am tired of throwing a tarp over some of my personality so that the shape of my identity suits some gross man a little better, for whatever shitty things he needs to do in order to keep his boring identity erect and supreme. I have many grievances and no place to set them down, and I am cranky from having to shoulder this burden of reactions, like I am a fucking Ox that should carry your unsellable wares. I am tired of buying my own flowers. I am tired of having to hold my breath through Valentine's Day the way you do when you drive past a graveyard. I want a valentine from a normal person who is horny. I want a prize for how well I can love. I want to be a prize for love.

I want what I have with Ben— the laughter, and the commitment, and someone to talk my problems over with…. But I want the other stuff, too. The flowers on Valentine’s Day, the kisses in public, the eventual ring on the fourth finger. I want someone who will hold my hand at the mall or at Starbucks. Not someone who will only ever touch me on a quiet deserted beach at midnight.

My dad could go to work, he could get raises, he could be thanked for his contributions, he got a pay-check for his labor, but that didn't happen for moms. The best they could hope for would be a crayon valentine or a squashed, limp dandelion flower offered up from the damp hand of their wide-eyed and innocent child. Which wasn't nothing. In all my days I'd never considered anything to be more important than home. In a chaotic world, it was sanctuary; it was where love grew.

PROPOSE DAY POEM: Austerity.. If.. I were to define.. it’s you.. yoo hoo! - Happiness is what.. that makes me feel divine.. smiling you.. yoo hoo!! - What rose is in flowers.. What moon is in stars.. That you are to me.. You and I will be we.. You’re my life.. I.. I.. You’re my life.. I.. I.. I love you.. yoo hoo I love you.. yoo hoo - O girl, O girl, O.. O.. girl.. you be mine.. I love you.. I love you.. I love you.. yoo hoo.. You be my.. Valentine. - Just be mine.. I love you.. O O Valentine!!!

The phrase was so simple and for most women, so generic. Any other female would have laughed off such a question from a boy she had no interest in. But in my case, it was a landmark moment in my life. Number 23 had gone where no other man had gone before. Until then, my history with men had been volatile. Instead of a boyfriend or even a drunken prom date, my virginity was forfeited to a very disturbed, grown man while I was unconscious on a bathroom floor. The remnants of what could be considered high school relationships were blurry and drug infused. Even the one long-lasting courtship I held with Number 3 went without traditional dating rituals like Valentine’s Day, birthdays, anniversary gifts, or even dinner. Into young adulthood, I was never the girl who men asked on dates. I was asked on many fucks. I was a pair of tits to cum on, a mouth to force a cock down, and even a playmate to spice up a marriage. At twenty-four, I had slept with twenty-two men, gotten lustfully heated with countless more, but had never once been given flowers. With less than a handful of dates in my past, romance was something I accepted as not being in the cards for me. My personality was too strong, my language too foul, and my opinions too outspoken. No, I was not the girl who got asked out on dates and though that made me sad at times, I buried myself too deeply in productivity to dwell on it. But, that day, Number 23 sparked a fuse. That question showed a glimmer of a simplistic sweetness that men never gave me. Suddenly he went from being some Army kid to the boyfriend I never had.

Hush little baby, don’t you cry, Mama’s gonna sing you a lullaby, and if that mockingbird don’t sing, Papa’s gonna buy you a diamond ring. Mama, Dada, uh-oh, ball. Good night tree, good night stars, good night moon, good night nobody. Potato stamps, paper chains, invisible ink, a cake shaped like a flower, a cake shaped like a horse, a cake shaped like a cake, inside voice, outside voice. If you see a bad dog, stand still as a tree. Conch shells, sea glass, high tide, undertow, ice cream, fireworks, watermelon seeds, swallowed gum, gum trees, shoes and ships and sealing wax, cabbages and kings, double dares, alphabet soup, A my name is Alice and my boyfriend’s name is Andy, we come from Alabama and we like apples, A my name is Alice and I want to play the game of looooove. Lightning bugs, falling stars, sea horses, goldfish, gerbils eat their young, please, no peanut butter, parental signature required, #1 Mom, show-and-tell, truth or dare, hide-and-seek, red light, green light, please put your own mask on before assisting, ashes, ashes, we all fall down, how to keep the home fires burning, date night, family night, night-night, May came home with a smooth round stone as small as the world and as big as alone. Stop, Drop, Roll. Salutations, Wilbur’s heart brimmed with happiness. Paper valentines, rubber cement, please be mine, chicken 100 ways, the sky is falling. Monopoly, Monopoly, Monopoly, you be the thimble, Mama, I’ll be the car.

XII No one wants to be the person who drives slow past a flower shop on valentine’s day while their lover sleeps even if I know the flower petals will fold in on themselves and turn to rust before they expand into the sun beautiful things die every day and we still stare while they are living or set them in the middle of a wooden table passed down from a wilting grandmother who only remembers your face on tuesdays it makes sense to declare love with something that makes no promises about how long it will stay living something that we know will be dead in a week I tell myself that while gently pressing my fingers into the dark leather of another pair of sneakers while all of the other men scramble for chocolate I try on another beautiful thing that may live to see me forgiven for walking through the door holding it close to my chest nothing else in my hands I understand that I should always come bearing flowers it is good to hold a slow funeral in your palms it is good to know when something will leave

Love Minus Zero / No Limit" My love she speaks like silence Without ideals or violence She doesn't have to say she's faithful Yet she's true, like ice, like fire People carry roses And make promises by the hours My love she laughs like the flowers Valentines can't buy her In the dime stores and bus stations People talk of situations Read books, repeat quotations Draw conclusions on the wall Some speak of the future My love she speaks softly She knows there's no success like failure And that failure's no success at all The cloak and dagger dangles Madams light the candles In ceremonies of the horsemen Even a pawn must hold a grudge Statues made of match-sticks Crumble into one another My love winks, she does not bother She knows too much to argue or to judge The bridge at midnight trembles The country doctor rambles Bankers' nieces seek perfection Expecting all the gifts that wise men bring The wind howls like a hammer The night blows rainy My love she's like some raven At my window with a broken wing Bringing It All Back Home (1965)

Where shall I put…?” A little maid stopped in the doorway, all but hidden behind a large bouquet of bright red carnations. Alas for my heart. Hazlit knew the sentiment associated with red carnations and had had them delivered anyway. He certainly wasn’t going to send the woman roses, for God’s sake. Carnations were durable, and they had a fresh, spicy scent that put Hazlit in mind of his hostess. She didn’t strike him as the type of lady to waste time decoding bouquets in any case. “On the sideboard, Millie.” Miss Windham’s lips turned up in a smile more sweet than any Hazlit had seen on her. “My youngest brother is temporarily returned to Town,” she said, taking the card from the bouquet. “Of all my siblings, Valentine is the one most likely to make the gallant gesture…” She fell silent while she read the card, her smile shifting to something heart-wrenchingly tentative. “This wasn’t necessary, Mr. Hazlit.” Regards, Hazlit. Not exactly poetry, but proof he’d upstaged at least her doting brother. “Perhaps not necessary, but a man can hope his small tokens are appreciated.” He glanced pointedly at the maid while he delivered that flummery, because the girl was lingering over the flowers unnecessarily. “That

Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine, Unwind the solemn twine, and tie my Valentine! Oh the Earth was made for lovers, for damsel, and hopeless swain, For sighing, and gentle whispering, and unity made of twain. All things do go a courting, in earth, or sea, or air, God hath made nothing single but thee in His world so fair! The bride, and then the bridegroom, the two, and then the one, Adam, and Eve, his consort, the moon, and then the sun; The life doth prove the precept, who obey shall happy be, Who will not serve the sovereign, be hanged on fatal tree. The high do seek the lowly, the great do seek the small, None cannot find who seeketh, on this terrestrial ball; The bee doth court the flower, the flower his suit receives, And they make merry wedding, whose guests are hundred leaves; The wind doth woo the branches, the branches they are won, And the father fond demandeth the maiden for his son. The storm doth walk the seashore humming a mournful tune, The wave with eye so pensive, looketh to see the moon, Their spirits meet together, they make their solemn vows, No more he singeth mournful, her sadness she doth lose. The worm doth woo the mortal, death claims a living bride, Night unto day is married, morn unto eventide; Earth is a merry damsel, and heaven a knight so true, And Earth is quite coquettish, and beseemeth in vain to sue. Now to the application, to the reading of the roll, To bringing thee to justice, and marshalling thy soul: Thou art a human solo, a being cold, and lone, Wilt have no kind companion, thou reap'st what thou hast sown. Hast never silent hours, and minutes all too long, And a deal of sad reflection, and wailing instead of song? There's Sarah, and Eliza, and Emeline so fair, And Harriet, and Susan, and she with curling hair! Thine eyes are sadly blinded, but yet thou mayest see Six true, and comely maidens sitting upon the tree; Approach that tree with caution, then up it boldly climb, And seize the one thou lovest, nor care for space, or time! Then bear her to the greenwood, and build for her a bower, And give her what she asketh, jewel, or bird, or flower — And bring the fife, and trumpet, and beat upon the drum — And bid the world Goodmorrow, and go to glory home!

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Sister didn't have to make a special valentine for Billy Grizzwold. She found the perfect one for him at the card store. It showed a scary-looking Frankenbear-type monster with a bolt on each side of his neck. It said: Monsters come in every shape and size. But when it comes to creepy, you take the prize! She'd sign it, "Guess Who." She couldn't wait to see Billy's face when he opened it at the class Valentine's Day party. But Sister forgot to watch when Billy opened her valentine because among the valentines she received was one that took her breath away. It was all hearts and flowers and inside it said, “Will you be my special friend?” “Wow!” said Lizzy Bruin. “It must have cost a whole dollar!” “It’s signed, ‘Guess who,’” said Sister. “Who do you suppose it’s from?” “Well, I know who you hope it’s from,” said Lizzy. “If somebody sent me a beautiful valentine that cost a whole dollar, I’d sure want to know who it was from. There’s Herbie over by the punch bowl. Go ask him.” Sister started for the punch bowl, but Billy Grizzwold blocked her way. He had the valentine Sister had sent him. “I’ll be glad to get you some punch,” said Billy. “And throw it down my back?” said Sister. “No, nothing like that,” said Billy. “I’m sorry about all the stuff I did. And I really don’t blame you for sending me this. It’s really pretty funny. How’d you like that valentine I sent you?” “You sent me?” said Sister. “You sent me this valentine?” “Yep,” said Billy. “I saved up for weeks to get it.” Sister was confused. She didn’t know what to say, so she just said, “Thanks.

The next day, Billy Grizzwold came over to Sister at recess. “Can I ask you something?” he said. “I guess so,” said Sister. “Could we sit together at the assembly tomorrow?” “You won’t bring any worms or toads?” “Nope,” said Billy. “I promise.” “Okay,” said Sister. So the next day, Billy and Sister sat together at assembly. He brought her a flower. It was a daisy. Sister forgot all about Herbie Cubbison. And that afternoon, Sister pressed Billy’s daisy in a book.

There is a tender breeze Wafting around here Feel it from your Soul You will see Magic over here Did I just now hear a beautiful symphony over here ? Or is it just your soothing words murmuring in my ear? Is it the cute mynah bird on my shoulder? Or is it your soft head nestling that I feel so tender? There is a tender breeze Wafting around here Feel it from your Soul You will see Magic over here... Did I just now hear the nightingale sing around here? Or is it the breeze whispering softly to the trees near? Is that you giggling away to glory? Or is that just the flowers mingling with the bees and telling their story? There is a tender breeze Wafting around here Feel it from your Soul You will see Magic over here..

Not that I’m a fan of Valentine’s, really. I always thought that every day should be Valentine’s. Well, POTENTIALLY Valentine’s at least, if you see what I mean. You know, why wait for a certain day if you want to buy flowers now? Unimaginative really, isn’t it, buying overpriced roses on the same day as everybody else. You know, you see a woman walking home with a bouquet of flowers, you think, Wow, someone really loves her! You see the same woman with the same bouquet on Valentine’s and you just get the feeling that someone was going through the motions. But

Nhiều bạn trẻ nghĩ rằng việc đặt hoa tươi trong ngày cưới chỉ cần gần đến ngày đặt là được tuy nhiên nó cũng có thể làm hỏng tiệc cưới của bạn nếu nó trúng vào những mùa cao điểm như mùa cưới, mùa tết. Đó là những thời điểm mà hầu hết ở đâu cũng cần phải sử dụng hoa tuoi. Vì vậy bài viết này chúng tôi chia sẽ với bạn kinh nghiệm để đặt hoa tươi ngày cưới. 1. Thời điểm đặt hoa Những tháng cuối năm kéo dài đến đầu năm sau là mùa cưới, lại có nhiều dịp lễ lớn như Giáng sinh, Valentine hay 8/3 nên các cửa hàng sẽ luôn bận rộn. Để có được bó hoa ưng ý, cô dâu chú rể nên tìm tới cửa hàng hoa trước ít nhất một tháng, thậm chí uyên ương kỹ tính nên chọn dịch vụ trước 2 - 3 tháng. Để chủ động, cô dâu chú rể nên tìm sẵn ý tưởng về bó hoa mình thích, khi đến cửa hàng, người làm hoa sẽ tư vấn thêm để bó hoa cưới phù hợp nhất vóc dáng và tông màu đám cưới. Ngoài ra, các cửa hàng cũng có nhiều catalog các mẫu hoa đẹp để bạn lựa chọn. Cô dâu nên cân nhắc kỹ và chọn ra 2 mẫu gồm một mẫu thích nhất và một mẫu hoa dự phòng, trong trường hợp người làm hoa không thể thực hiện mẫu đã định. 2. Đặt cọc trước Khi đã tìm được nhà cung cấp ưng ý, cô dâu chú rể nên đặt cọc một phần tiền hoa để giữ chỗ và đảm bảo người làm hoa sẽ không quên yêu cầu của bạn. Tùy theo tổng giá trị hoa bạn yêu cầu mà có thể đặt từ vài trăm nghìn tới vài triệu đồng. Khi đặt cọc tiền, cô dâu chú rể nhớ lấy giấy hẹn và trước đám cưới, cần nhắc nhở lại nhà cung cấp về yêu cầu của bạn. 3. Hoa cưới trọn gói và hoa lẻ Thông thường, các cặp đôi sẽ chọn đặt hoa cầm tay cho cô dâu và hoa cài áo chú rể cùng với hoa trang trí, xe hoa nhưng nếu uyên ương muốn đặt riêng hoa với các loại hoa nhập khẩu đặc biệt vẫn được. Giá hoa cưới cũng tùy vào loại hoa và phụ kiện. Nếu hoa theo mùa đơn giản, bộ hoa cầm tay và hoa cài áo dao động từ 500.000 đồng. Nếu lựa chọn các loại hoa nhập khẩu như mẫu đơn, giá hoa có thể từ 2 triệu đồng đến 5 triệu đồng mỗi bó. Đến ngày cưới, uyên ương thường phải nhờ người đến lấy hoa nếu các cửa hàng hoa quá bận, không thể giao tận nơi. Trong trường hợp sử dụng dịch vụ hoa cưới trọn gói từ trang trí đến xe hoa thì nhà cung cấp sẽ chuẩn bị hoa cưới cho cô dâu chú rể và mang tới tiệc cưới.

Alice always had loved flowers. There was something about the blend of colors, the hidden roots, the twisting petals as they unfurled in the sun one by one. A symbol of femininity---how that which is delicate can also be strong. Whiskey in a teacup, as her aunt always said. Well, her aunt and Reese Witherspoon, but honestly, Aunt Charlotte had been saying that way back when Reese was still filming Sweet Home Alabama. Alice swept petals from the floor, beautiful yet fragmented evidence of the fullness the day had brought. She'd been running the Prickly Rose, a customizable bouquet shop on Magazine Street, alongside her aunt for several years now, and Valentine's Day always left plenty of cast-off remnants.

After her unexpected breakfast with Sullivan this morning, Alice clipped stems for a petite arrangement of carnations and crimson-tipped roses, with a few sprays of purple wildflowers thrown in for good measure. She breathed in deeply, and the fragrance brought back the magic of the first Valentine's flowers she received from a crush back in high school. It was one of the many things she loved about flowers---their ability to pull you out of the present and into the past, then back into the present once more, better for having remembered something so lovely.

[Love Wasn’t as They Said] Love wasn’t as they said… It didn’t last forever as they claimed… It is fleeting moments only recognized By those with sight and insight… And perhaps only captured By those patiently waiting as if to see a lightning in the sky… And, like lightning perhaps, we never know Where love goes after it strikes… And perhaps the only love that lasts Is one that know when to stay and when to walk away… ** Love wasn’t synonymous with honor As they defined honor... It is often the awareness that falls upon us After betraying or letting down the loved ones… Love wasn’t holding hands forever, It is boring afternoons spent together With no words And no activities… It wasn’t lifetime sexual attraction As many claimed… It is the companionship that remains After the hormonal fires are put out, When the noises of immaturity go silent, And after the childish quarrels and squabbles stop… It is the home that remains erected Long after getting erectile dysfunction… It that appetite for life after the last egg from the last period… It is that strange feeling of elation That may come after what is mistakenly called a “midlife crisis”, To fill that frightening gap between hope and reality… ** Love a widow brushing her hair, On a bus or in a public place, Unbothered by onlookers or passersby, As she opens her shabby handbag And takes out an apple to bite on With the teeth she has left… Love is an eye surrounded with wrinkles But is finally able to see the world Sensitively, insightfully, and more realistically, Without exaggerated embellishment or distortion… ** Love is shreds of joy Interspersed with long intervals Of boredom, exhaustion, reproach, and disappointment… It’s not measured with red flowers, bears, and expensive gifts in shiny wraps, It is who remains when the glucose, blood pressure and cholesterol numbers are high… It’s those who stay after the heart catheterization and knee replacement surgeries… Love gets stronger after getting osteoporosis And may move mountains despite the rheumatism… ** Love is the few seconds when our eyes cross with strangers Who awaken in us feelings we hadn’t experienced with those living with us in years… Or perhaps it’s rubbing arms and shoulders with a passenger On a bus, in a train, or on a plane… It is that fleeting look from a passerby in the street Convey to us that they, too, have understood the game, But there’s not much they can do about it… ** Love wasn’t as they said It wasn’t as they said… It is not 1+1=2… It is sometimes three or more… At other times, it grows at point zero or lower, In solitude, in loneliness, and in seclusion… Isn’t it time, I wonder, to demolish everything falsely, unfairly, and misleadingly attributed to love? Or is it that love burns and dies Precisely when we try to capture it in our hands? [Original poem published in Arabic on October 27, 2022 at ahewar.org]

[Love Wasn’t as They Said] Love wasn’t as they said… It didn’t last forever as they claimed… It is fleeting moments only recognized By those with sight and insight… And perhaps only captured By those patiently waiting as if to see a lightning in the sky… And, like lightning perhaps, we never know Where love goes after it strikes… And perhaps the only love that lasts Is one that know when to stay and when to walk away… ** Love wasn’t synonymous with honor As they defined honor... It is often the awareness that falls upon us After betraying or letting down the loved ones… Love wasn’t holding hands forever, It is boring afternoons spent together With no words And no activities… It wasn’t lifetime sexual attraction As many claimed… It is the companionship that remains After the hormonal fires are put out, When the noises of immaturity go silent, And after the childish quarrels and squabbles stop… It is the home that remains erected Long after getting erectile dysfunction… It that appetite for life after the last egg from the last period… It is that strange feeling of elation That may come after what is mistakenly called a “midlife crisis”, To fill that frightening gap between hope and reality… ** Love is a widow brushing her hair, On a bus or in a public place, Unbothered by onlookers or passersby, As she opens her shabby handbag And takes out an apple to bite on With the teeth she has left… Love is an eye surrounded with wrinkles But is finally able to see the world Sensitively, insightfully, and more realistically, Without exaggerated embellishment or distortion… ** Love is shreds of joy Interspersed with long intervals Of boredom, exhaustion, reproach, and disappointment… It’s not measured with red flowers, bears, and expensive gifts in shiny wraps, It is who remains when the glucose, blood pressure and cholesterol numbers are high… It’s those who stay after the heart catheterization and knee replacement surgeries… Love gets stronger after getting osteoporosis And may move mountains despite the rheumatism… ** Love is the few seconds when our eyes cross with strangers Who awaken in us feelings we hadn’t experienced with those living with us in years… Or perhaps it’s rubbing arms and shoulders with a passenger On a bus, in a train, or on a plane… It is that fleeting look from a passerby in the street Convey to us that they, too, have understood the game, But there’s not much they can do about it… ** Love wasn’t as they said It wasn’t as they said… It is not 1+1=2… It is sometimes three or more… At other times, it grows at point zero or lower, In solitude, in loneliness, and in seclusion… Isn’t it time, I wonder, to demolish everything falsely, unfairly, and misleadingly attributed to love? Or is it that love burns and dies Precisely when we try to capture it in our hands? [Original poem published in Arabic on October 27, 2022 at ahewar.org]

In the garden of attachment, may every flower of love blossom, painting the canvas of our lives with hues of tenderness and joy, for on this day, we celebrate the timeless dance of interwoven hearts. Happy Valentine’s Day.

Some say that the spiritual founder of the Rosicrucians was Paracelsus himself. In Huser's edition of his Prognostication Concerning the Next Twenty-four Years there is a woodcut of a child looking toward a heap of Paracelsus's books, some inscribed with a capital R and one bearing the word Rosa. But the significance of this imagery for the Rosicrucians seems spurious.* The rose that the secret society chose as its symbol is in fact derived from the emblem of Martin Luther, in which a heart and cross spring from the center of the flower. The movement began as a society of Protestant Paracelsians founded by the alchemist Johann Valentin Andreae of Herrenberg. *The Paracelsus connection remains puzzling, however. In the first edition of the Philosophia Magna, published by Birckmann in 1567, the Hirschvogel woodcut of Paracelsus appears in modified form with various strange images in the background that later became clearly associated with Rosicrucianism, such as a child's head emerging from a cleft in the ground. What is the significance of these symbols, fifty years before the Rosicrucian movement came into the open?

Today was his thirty-first birthday, Valentine’s Day. None of his friends were in the pub, trying to impress the missus or girlfriend, taking them out for dinner. There were no flowers in the bar to celebrate Valentine’s, no complimentary chocolates on the counter, nothing, just hard drinking by the down-and-outs, seated and separated out evenly across the place.

Two Valentines are actually described in the early church, but they likely refer to the same man — a priest in Rome during the reign of Emperor Claudius II. According to tradition, Valentine, having been imprisoned and beaten, was beheaded on February 14, about 270, along the Flaminian Way. Sound romantic to you? How then did his martyrdom become a day for lovers and flowers, candy and little poems reading Roses are red… ? According to legends handed down, Valentine undercut an edict of Emperor Claudius. Wanting to more easily recruit soldiers for his army, Claudius had tried to weaken family ties by forbidding marriage. Valentine, ignoring the order, secretly married young couples in the underground church. These activities, when uncovered, led to his arrest. Furthermore, Valentine had a romantic interest of his own. While in prison he became friends with the jailer’s daughter, and being deprived of books he amused himself by cutting shapes in paper and writing notes to her. His last note arrived on the morning of his death and ended with the words “Your Valentine.” In 496 February 14 was named in his honor. By this time Christianity had long been legalized in the empire, and many pagan celebrations were being “christianized.” One of them, a Roman festival named Lupercalia, was a celebration of love and fertility in which young men put names of girls in a box, drew them out, and celebrated lovemaking. This holiday was replaced by St. Valentine’s Day with its more innocent customs of sending notes and sharing expressions of affection. Does any real truth lie behind the stories of St. Valentine? Probably. He likely conducted underground weddings and sent notes to the jailer’s daughter. He might have even signed them “Your Valentine.” And he probably died for his faith in Christ.

Some Tips to Preserve Flowers Fresh Longer Receiving new and lovely blossoms is among the most wonderful emotions in the world. It creates you feel loved, and unique, critical. Nothing really beats fresh flowers to mention particular feelings of love and devotion. This is actually the reason why you can tell how a celebration that is unique is from the quantity and type of flowers current, sold or whether available one to the other. Without a doubt the rose sector actually flowers online stores can not slow-down anytime soon and are booming. Weddings, Valentines Day, birthday, school, anniversaries, brand all without and the most significant instances a doubt flowers are part of it. The plants could have been picked up professionally or ordered through plants online, regardless of the means, new blossoms can present in a celebration. The challenge with receiving plants, however, is how to maintain their freshness longer. Really, merely placing them on vases filled up with water wouldn’t do the trick, here are a few established ways you'll be able to keep plants clean and sustained for times:  the easiest way to keep plants is by keeping them inside the refrigerator. Here is the reason why most flower shops have huge appliances where they keep their stock. If you have added place in the fridge (and endurance) you're able to just put the flowers before bed-time and put it within the fridge. In the morning you could arrange them again and do the same within the days.  If you are partial to drinking pop, specially the obvious ones like Sprite and 7 Up, you need to use this like a chemical to preserve the flowers fresh. Just serve a couple of fraction of mug of pop to mix within the water in the vase. Sugar is just a natural chemical and soda has high-sugar content, as you know.  To keep the petals and sepals fresh-looking attempt to apply somewhat of hairspray on the couple of plants or aroma. Stay from a length (about one feet) then provide the blossoms a fast spritz, notably to the leaves and petals.  the trick to maintaining cut flowers new is always to minimize the expansion of bacteria while in the same period give you the plants with all the diet it needs. Since it has properties for this function vodka may be used. Just blend of vodka and sugar for the water that you're going to use within the vase but make sure to modify the water daily using the vodka and sugar solution.  Aspirin is also recognized to preserve flowers fresh. Only break a pill of aspirin before you place the plants, and blend it with the water. Remember which you need to add aspirin everytime the water changes.  Another effective approach to avoid the growth of bacteria is to add about a quarter teaspoon of bleach inside the water within the vase. Mix in a few teaspoon of sugar for the blossoms and also diet will definitely last considerably longer. The number are only several of the more doable ways that you can do to make sure that it is possible to enjoy those arrangement of flowers you obtained from the person you worry about for a very long time. They could nearly last but atleast the message it offered will soon be valued inside your heart for the a long time.

Oh, no,” Valentine said. “I’m anything but that.” He moved a little closer to her, and she stepped in front of the Sword, blocking it from his view. “You think of me that way because you look at me and at what I do through the lens of your mundane understanding of the world. Mundane humans create distinctions between themselves, distinctions that seem ridiculous to any Shadowhunter. Their distinctions are based on race, religion, national identity, any of a dozen minor and irrelevant markers. To mundanes these seem logical, for though mundanes cannot see, understand, or acknowledge the demon worlds, still somewhere buried in their ancient memories, they know that there are those that walk this earth that are other. That do not belong, that mean only harm and destruction. Since the demon threat is invisible to mundanes, they must assign the threat to others of their own kind. They place the face of their enemy onto the face of their neighbor, and thus are generations of misery assured.” He took another step toward her, and Clary instinctively moved backward; she was pressed up against the footlocker now. “I’m not like that,” he went on. “I can see the truth of it. Mundanes see as through a glass, darkly, but Shadowhunters—we see face-to-face. We know the truth of evil, and know that while it walks among us, it is not of us. What does not belong to our world must not be allowed to take root here, to grow like a poisonous flower and extinguish all life.

I love you,” Val began, wondering where in the nine circles of hell that had come from. He sat forward, elbows on his knees, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry; that came out… wrong. Still…” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “It’s the truth.” Ellen’s fingers settled on his nape, massaging in the small, soothing circles Val had come to expect when her hands were on him. “If you love me,” she said after a long, fraught silence, “you’ll tell me the truth.” Val tried to see that response as positive—she hadn’t stomped off, railed at him, or tossed his words back in his face. Yet. But neither had she reciprocated. “My name is Valentine Windham,” he said slowly, “but you’ve asked about my family, and in that regard—and that regard only—I have not been entirely forthcoming.” “Come forth now,” she commanded softly, her hand going still. “My father is the Duke of Moreland. That’s all. I’m a commoner, my title only a courtesy, and I’m not even technically the spare anymore, a situation that should improve further, because my brother Gayle is deeply enamored of his wife.” “Improve?” Ellen’s voice was soft, preoccupied. “I don’t want the title, Ellen.” Val sat up, needing to see her eyes. “I don’t ever want it, not for me, not for my son or grandson. I make pianos, and it’s a good income. I can provide well for you, if you’ll let me.” “As your mistress?” “Bloody, blazing… no!” Val rose and paced across the porch, turning to face her when he could go no farther. “As my wife, as my beloved, dearest wife.” A few heartbeats of silence went by, and with each one, Val felt the ringing of a death knell over his hopes. “I would be your mistress. I care for you, too, but I cannot be your wife.” Val frowned at that. It wasn’t what he’d been expecting. A conditional rejection, that’s what it was. She’d give him time, he supposed, to get over his feelings and move along with his life. “Why not marry me?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. She crossed her arms too. “What else haven’t you told me?” “Fair enough.” Val came back to sit beside her and searched his mind. “I play the piano. I don’t just mess about with it for polite entertainment. Playing the piano used to be who I was.” “You were a musician?” Val snorted. “I was a coward, but yes, I was a musician, a virtuoso of the keyboard. Then my hand”—he held up his perfectly unremarkable left hand—“rebelled against all the wear and tear, or came a cropper somehow. I could not play anymore, not without either damaging it beyond all repair or risking a laudanum addiction, maybe both.” “So you came out here?” Ellen guessed. “You took on the monumental task of setting to rights what I had put wrong on this estate and thought that would be… what?” “A way to feel useful or maybe just a way to get tired enough each day that I didn’t miss the music so much, and then…” “Then?” She took his hand in hers, but Val wasn’t reassured. His mistress, indeed. “Then I became enamored of my neighbor. She beguiled me—she’s lovely and dear and patient. She’s a virtuoso of the flower garden. She cared about my hand and about me without once hearing me play the piano, and this intrigued me.” “You intrigued me,” Ellen admitted, pressing the back of his hand to her cheek. “You still do.” “My Ellen loves to make beauty, as do I.” Val turned and used his free hand to trace the line of Ellen’s jaw. “She is as independent as I am and values her privacy, as I do.” “You are merely lonely, Val.

You’re sure he’s gone?” Ellen asked, unable to keep her voice from breaking. “He’ll stay gone? You’re safe from him?” “I am safe from him.” Val held her gaze. “You are safe from him. I promise you this, Ellen, with my most solemn word. My family owns two shipping companies, and we’d spot him before he disembarked at any domestic port. His ship was headed for Italy by way of Portugal, because he already has enemies in France. He can afford to run for a bit, since he took his personal jewelry with him. Recall, though, that he’s alone, he doesn’t speak the language, doesn’t know the customs, and I have friends who will keep an eye on him in Rome. Will you marry me?” “You’re going to keep composing, aren’t you?” Ellen peered at him worriedly. “That music, Val. It was… sublime. I could almost hear the frogs croaking and feel the tears on my cheeks—well, I could feel the real tears—and the flowers, I could smell them in the sunshine during that second movement. I think the Belmont boys were there too, and so was Marmalade. You have to keep writing. You have to. Is your hand all right?” Val sat back and braced one of his hands on each of her arms. “If I promise to keep composing, will you marry me?” “Yes.” It was a simple word but the most radiant in her vocabulary. Radiant like the notes of his symphony. “Yes. I will marry you, Valentine Windham, and you will write music, and our lives will always have something of the divine in them.” “Always,” he agreed, hugging her to him. And

We ended up in North Dakota Although my heart's in Mexico...

In February when my garden is barren of flowers, you are the only flower blooming in my heart. I cherish you and adore you with all of my heart because you are my Valentine.

She had to be sure that I had followed the rules set down by Harry, her demigod father, and she was now satisfied that I had. She knew Valentine fit the bill, and she accepted the justice of his unorthodox end with satisfaction. I looked at my sister with a real fondness. She had certainly come a long way from when she first found out what I am, and had needed to fight down the desire to lock me up. “All right,” she said, jolting me out of my doting reverie before I could sing “Hearts and Flowers.” “So he saw you, and now he wants to take you down.

What she wants is a partner, two people building a normal, mostly boring life. My father can be counted on for the big things—a diamond, a house, a car, maybe flowers on Valentine’s Day. But my mother cares more for the details, the day-to-day considerations that will elude my father, not because he doesn’t care, but because he

As has sometimes been remarked, almost any woman can find a man to sleep with if she sets her standards low enough. But what must be lowered are not necessarily standards of character, intelligence, sexual energy, good looks, and worldly achievement. Rather, far more often, she must relax her requirements for commitment, constancy, and romantic passion; she must cease to hope for declarations of love, admiring stares, witty telegrams, eloquent letters, birthday cards, valentines, candy, and flowers. No; plain women often have a sex life. What they lack, rather, is a love life.

My father always buys big bouquets for my mother every year for Valentine’s Day . . . her birthday. Their anniversary. He sends them to her. Doesn’t hand them to her. A man who has the money to buy expensive bouquets who hands a woman a single flower . . . or even picks one for her as they’re walking in a field. That’s different.

Don't just be my garden paradise. Be my flower of love.

Junior has always been bad. Bad is a self-fulfilling prophecy that, heard enough times, is believed: I am bad. The constant question, Why are you so bad? That time he stole. All the times he stole. He is always stealing, always wanting more. The answer he receives is always no -- no matter how practical and from the heart the thing is that he desires -- because he will surely ruin it, for he is bad and he must be punished for his badness. This is where we diverge. I become a black woman in the way I have been taught: silent, undeserving, inadequate in every way. And he becomes a black man: unpredictable, scary. Bad.

I see.” Valentine did not see. “So you’re saying that if I’d read more silly novels at an impressionable age, I, too, would have grown up with the understanding that . . . that there are choices?” “It’s not a choice to me, flower. It’s who I am.

How could I not love you? The man made of crystalline cicada wings that remind me of home?” I ask, taking his hand away from my cheek and pressing my lips to it. He exhales and closes his eyes as he leans into the affection. He unwinds his other hand from my hair and rests them both against the small of my back as if we’re dancing on the ballroom floor once more. “The man so beautiful that even his scars are golden?His tears silver?” I kiss the scar on his cheekbone, tiptoeing as I do. I take a step forward, he follows my lead. “The man so kind that even his skin reminds me of stained glass cathedral windows?” I kiss the jawline of his slightly silver-stained, iridescent skin. He’s pressed against the wooden bedpost like a flower into a diary entry.

But don’t you see, Valentine. I wanted to kiss you when you were fifteen years old, with feet the size of sledges and hands the size of dinner plates, and wearing a withered flower crown my sister had made, frankly, terribly. I wanted to kiss you when you ran away from an entirely harmless bee. I wanted to kiss you when you were covered in frog spawn. I always want to kiss you. Soup isn’t going to change that.

He wants,” said Valentine, pouting, “to lick your arse.” “Flower, everyone wants to lick my arse. My arse is absolutely divine.

He’s pressed against the wooden bedpost like a flower into a diary entry.

Is this what I should expect, intense, soul-searing sex followed by a disappearing act that would make Houdini proud along with flowers, a fresh pot of coffee, and a cryptic poem on my pillow?

That threw all the women at the table into wedding planning mode, even Princess. She volunteered her services as the flower girl.

Saigon Roses Shop hoa tươi #1 tại TP HCM Saigon Roses là shop hoa tươi #1 tại TP HCM cung cấp dịch vụ đặt hoa online giao tận nơi trên khắp các tỉnh - thành phố tại Việt Nam. Shop hoa tươi Saigon Roses Hoa tươi là quà tặng không thể thiếu trong tất cả các sự kiện. Không chỉ là quà tặng đơn thuần, hoa tươi còn giúp bạn gửi đi thông điệp và những lời chúc ý nghĩa tới người nhận. Saigon Roses là shop hoa tươi online ở TP HCM. Chúng tôi cung cấp dịch vụ đặt hoa online 24/7 và điện hoa tươi tại TP HCM, Hà Nội và toàn bộ các tỉnh – thành phố tại Việt Nam… Với mong muốn mang đến một dịch vụ hoàn hảo và giúp quý khách hàng có những trải nghiệm tuyệt vời khi đặt hoa online gửi tặng cho người thân. Saigon Roses luôn nỗ lực không ngừng để mang đến cho khách hàng những sản phẩm tốt nhất với mức giá cả hợp lý nhất. Giúp khách hàng có thể nhanh chóng gửi tặng hoa tươi và quà tặng cho những người thân của mình tại Việt Nam trong những dịp đặc biệt! Dịch vụ điện hoa tại Saigon Roses Shop hoa tươi Saigon Roses cung cấp dịch vụ điện hoa tươi online cho tất cả các sự kiện đặc biệt trong năm gồm có: · Hoa sinh nhật: Hoa tươi gửi tặng vợ, bạn gái, người thân và bạn bè trong dịp sinh nhật. · Hoa khai trương: Dịch vụ điện hoa khai trương công ty, cửa hàng. · Hoa chúc mừng: hoa chúc mừng các dịp đặc biệt trong năm như ngày nhà giáo Việt Nam, ngày quốc tế phụ nữ 8-3, ngày phụ nữ Việt Nam 20/10...etc. · Hoa cưới cầm tay: dịch vụ hoa cưới cầm tay cho cô dâu và hoa cài áo cho chú rể. · Hoa tình yêu - hoa valentine: hơn 100+ mẫu hoa yêu thương gửi tặng bạn gái trong ngày lễ tình nhân hay trong các dịp đặc biệt. · Hoa chia buồn: Dịch vụ điện hoa chia buồn đám tang Ngoài ra, shop hoa tươi Saigon Roses còn cung cấp hàng trăm mẫu hoa tươi đẹp sang trọng phù hợp với tất cả các sự kiện diễn ra trong năm như giáng sinh, năm mới, hoa định kỳ cho văn phòng và hoa cho các hội nghị. Vì sao nên chọn Saigon Roses Được thành lập từ năm 2016, Shop hoa tươi Saigon Roses luôn nỗ lực nâng cao chất lượng sản phẩm và dịch vụ để giúp khách hàng có những trải nghiệm tốt nhất và hài lòng nhất khi sử dụng dịch vụ điện hoa (Flower Delivery) tại Saigon Roses. Tại sao khách hàng nên lựa chọn sử dụng dịch vụ điện hoa tại Saigon Roses? Hoa tươi nhất: Với mong muốn mang lại cho khách hàng những sản phẩm tốt nhất, Saigon Roses cam kết sử dụng những bông hoa tươi mới nhất được lựa chọn cẩn thận từ những nông trại hoa ngay tại địa phương. Bên cạnh đó, mỗi bó hoa tại Saigon Roses đều được thiết kế với những ý nghĩa đặc biệt từ những Florist (thợ cắm hoa) có nhiều năm kinh nghiệm trong ngành thiết kế hoa (Floral Design) giúp bạn gửi đến người thân những thông điệp ý nghĩa nhất. Giao hoa nhanh trong 3 tiếng: Saigon Roses cam kết giao hoa nhanh trong vòng 3 tiếng kể từ khi khách hàng đặt hàng và thanh toán thành công. Miễn phí giao hoa nội thành TP HCM: Saigon Roses cam kết giao hoa miễn phí đối với những đơn đặt hoa giao tại nội thành TP HCM. Tặng kèm thiệp chúc mừng: Tặng kèm thiệp hoặc banner chúc mừng trị giá 50k cho khách hàng khi đặt hoa tại Saigon Roses. Xuất hóa đơn VAT: Xuất hóa đơn VAT nhanh cho các khách hàng doanh nghiệp Đặt Hoa và Thanh Toán Đặt hoa và thanh toán Khách hàng có thể đặt hoa tươi tại Saigon Roses theo 4 cách: · Đặt hoa online tại website · Đặt hoa bằng cách chat trực tiếp với nhân viên của Saigon Roses qua livechat. · Đặt hoa qua địa chỉ facebook · Đặt hoa nhanh qua Hotline: 0919 946 439 hoặc 028 2253 0646 Các hình thức thanh toán tại Saigon Roses · Thanh toán qua chuyển khoản ngân hàng · Thanh toán online bằng thẻ nội địa hoặc quốc tế qua cổng thanh toán VTCpay hoặc 2checkout. · Thanh toán tiền mặt tại cửa hàng: Ngoài ra

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Oh Valentine’s Day, here you are again! With cards, treats, and flowers, stores a-laden. May it just be one of a ritual way, for love is best shown in the day-to-day.

Fifteen percent of women send themselves flowers on Valentine’s Day

If I have learned anything, it is to keep my wife happy by sending her lavish gifts. Other men can learn from my success and send their wives and girlfriends fresh flowers for birthdays, anniversaries, and of course, Valentine's Day.