Fragrance, colour and looks;

Apricot roses in my garden;

The sharp thorn often produces delicate roses. 

Ovid 

Treaties, you see, are like girls and roses;

 they last while they last. 

Charles de Gaulle 

Come into my garden,

 my roses will be pleased to see you; Titania

As you walk down the fairway of life you must smell the roses, for you only get to play one round. 

Ben Hogan 

A revolution is not a bed of roses. 

Fidel Castro 

What though youth gave love and roses,
 Age still leaves us friends and wine. 

Thomas More 

“She cast her fragrance and her radiance over me. I ought never to have run away from her... I ought to have guessed all the affection that lay behind her poor little stratagems. Flowers are so inconsistent! But I was too young to know how to love her...” 
― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

“What a lovely thing a rose is!"

He walked past the couch to the open window and held up the drooping stalk of a moss-rose, looking down at the dainty blend of crimson and green. It was a new phase of his character to me, for I had never before seen him show any keen interest in natural objects. 

"There is nothing in which deduction is so necessary as religion," said he, leaning with his back against the shutters. "It can be built up as an exact science by the reasoner. Our highest assurance of the goodness of Providence seems to me to rest in the flowers. All other things, our powers, our desires, our food, are all really necessary for our existence in the first instance. But this rose is an extra. Its smell and its color are an embellishment of life, not a condition of it. It is only goodness which gives extras, and so I say again that we have much to hope from the flowers.” 

Arthur Conan Doyle, The Naval Treaty

Roses of today or yesterday or the day before,

 sweet and fragrant; Titania

It is summer when the garden smells of roses

 and the sun streams molten 

gold ;Titania

"THEY ARE NOT LONG"

"They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,

Love and desire and hate:

I think they have no portion in us after

We pass the gate.

They are not long, the days of wine and roses:

Out of a misty dream

Our path emerges for awhile, then closes

Within a dream."

By Ernest Dowson (1867-1900).

And tomorrow

a beautiful sunrise...

©Photos/text Ts