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Description I would water the roses with my tears to feel the pain of their thorns and the red kiss of their petals.
What remains of all travel is the scent of a withered rose.
Every rose is the same as a rose, but who knows if, from the point of view of the rose, we are different: if the hand stretched towards the flower, the nostril that sucks in its perfume, the gaze that contemplates the petals are different every time. the Rose
What's in a name? What we call by the name of rose, even if we called it by another name, would still retain the same sweet scent
I'd rather have roses on my table than diamonds on my neck
If Zeus wanted to give a kingdom to flowers, the rose would reign over everyone.
It is the time you have wasted for your rose that has made your rose so important.
But she was from that world where the most beautiful things
They have the worst fate,
And rose, she lived what roses live
The space of a morning
The rose is without why, it blooms because it blooms, without worrying about itself, without the desire to be seen
For the love of a rose, the gardener is the servant of a thousand thorns
You are nothing like my rose, you are still nothing! You are beautiful, but you are empty. One cannot die for you. Certainly, any passerby would believe that my rose resembles you, but she, she alone, is more important than all of you, because she is the one I watered. Because she is the one I put under the glass dome. Because she is the one I sheltered with the screen. Because she is the one I have heard complaining or bragging, or even sometimes being silent. Because it's my rose.
It is madness to hate all roses because a thorn stung you, to abandon all dreams because one of them did not come true, to give up all attempts because one failed.
The rose has its thorns, and for this reason the rose is the flower of love.
Nobody knows this little Rose,
It could be a pilgrim
If I hadn't taken it from the lanes
and collected for you.
Only a Bee will miss her -
Just a Butterfly,
Hurrying from afar -
to rest in her womb -
Only a Bird will marvel -
Only a breeze will sigh -
Ah Little Rose - how easy it is
for those like you, to die
We can complain that rose bushes have thorns or rejoice that thorn bushes have roses. It depends on your point of view.
Description I would water the roses with my tears to feel the pain of their thorns and the red kiss of their petals.
What remains of all travel is the scent of a withered rose.
Every rose is the same as a rose, but who knows if, from the point of view of the rose, we are different: if the hand stretched towards the flower, the nostril that sucks in its perfume, the gaze that contemplates the petals are different every time. the Rose
What's in a name? What we call by the name of rose, even if we called it by another name, would still retain the same sweet scent
I'd rather have roses on my table than diamonds on my neck
If Zeus wanted to give a kingdom to flowers, the rose would reign over everyone.
It is the time you have wasted for your rose that has made your rose so important.
But she was from that world where the most beautiful things
They have the worst fate,
And rose, she lived what roses live
The space of a morning
The rose is without why, it blooms because it blooms, without worrying about itself, without the desire to be seen
For the love of a rose, the gardener is the servant of a thousand thorns
You are nothing like my rose, you are still nothing! You are beautiful, but you are empty. One cannot die for you. Certainly, any passerby would believe that my rose resembles you, but she, she alone, is more important than all of you, because she is the one I watered. Because she is the one I put under the glass dome. Because she is the one I sheltered with the screen. Because she is the one I have heard complaining or bragging, or even sometimes being silent. Because it's my rose.
It is madness to hate all roses because a thorn stung you, to abandon all dreams because one of them did not come true, to give up all attempts because one failed.
The rose has its thorns, and for this reason the rose is the flower of love.
Nobody knows this little Rose,
It could be a pilgrim
If I hadn't taken it from the lanes
and collected for you.
Only a Bee will miss her -
Just a Butterfly,
Hurrying from afar -
to rest in her womb -
Only a Bird will marvel -
Only a breeze will sigh -
Ah Little Rose - how easy it is
for those like you, to die
We can complain that rose bushes have thorns or rejoice that thorn bushes have roses. It depends on your point of view.
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