Rose Quotes
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Okay, well, let's do a little reenactment. I'm the gay-looking DiCaprio and you're Rose. You have to keep your eyes open and on my face, or you'll have to let me go and I'll turn into a huge gay Popsicle.
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I adore vintage clothes. When I go on the road doing auditions for So You Think You Can Dance, I always research the cities we're traveling to so I know where all the best vintage stores are. There are several stores and flea markets I love here in LA. Shareen is amazing with the best edit in town! Golyester is great. I really enjoy the Rose Bowl market. A word of warning: wear layers, comfortable shoes, be prepared to hunt, and fuel yourself with a bucket of cappuccino! Enjoy!
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Roses grow on thorns and honey wears a sting.
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Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid’s pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds.
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The rose's rarest essence lives in the thorns.
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In the garden of thy heart, plant naught but the rose of love.
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Never use abstract nouns when concrete ones will do. If you mean “More people died” don’t say “Mortality rose.
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The rose is a rose, And was always a rose. But now the theory goes That the apple's a rose, And the pear is, and so's The plum, I suppose. The dear only knows What will next prove a rose. You, of course, are a rose But were always a rose.
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The demise of Reconstruction had made it hard for blacks to acquire capital or to pass on property to their children. As blacks were driven from all but the most limited spheres of business and political life, the prestige of the professional rose in the black community.
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All things uncomely and broken, all things worn out and old The cry of a child by the roadway, the creak of a lumbering cart, The heavy steps of the plowman, splashing the wintry mold, Are wronging your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart.
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Such an act That blurs the grace and blush of modesty; Calls virtue hypocrite; takes off the rose From the fair forehead of an innocent love, And sets a blister there; makes marriage vows As false as dicers' oaths.
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The indignity of it!- With everything blooming above me, Lilies, pale-pink cyclamen, roses, Whole fields lovely and inviolate,- Me down in the fetor of weeds, Crawling on all fours, Alive, in a slippery grave.
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A birthday:-and now a day that rose With much of hope, with meaning rife- A thoughtful day from dawn to close: The middle day of human life.
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Music was a thing of the soul — a rose-lipped shell that murmured of the eternal sea — a strange bird singing the songs of another shore.
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It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.
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I'm for a multi-racial world in which each race keeps to itself, in harmony with the other races. Like in a garden, you have flowerbeds of roses and flowerbeds of carnations and irises and different other flowers. They don't intermarry. They stay separate, and each one has its beauty. . . . I'm against colonialism for the reason that colonialism infects the master as well as the slave. It even infects the master more.
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I, Woman, am that wonder-breathing rose That blossoms in the garden of the King.
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Pete Rose may not make the Hall of Fame, but a statue of him is going to be erected outside the Cincinnati Reds ballpark.
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I said the same things to Axl [Rose] that everyone said to me when me and Joe Perry were fighting.
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Full on this casement shone the wintry moon,And threw warm gules on Madeline’s fair breast,As down she knelt for heaven’s grace and boon;Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest.
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I say it speeds thee not That Christ rose from the grave, So long as thou art still To death and sin a slave.
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The fate of peoples is made like this, two men in small rooms. Forget the coronations, the conclaves of cardinals, the pomp and processions. This is how the world changes: a counter pushed across a table, a pen stroke that alters the force of a phrase, a woman's sigh as she passes and leaves on the air a trail of orange flower or rose water; her hand pulling close the bed curtain, the discreet sigh of flesh against flesh.
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Oh, this is the joy of the rose; That it blows, And goes.
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All perfect things are saddening in effect. The autumn wood robed in its scarlet clothes, The matchless tinting on the royal rose Whose velvet leaf by no least flaw is flecked. Love's supreme moment, when the soul unchecked Soars high as heaven, and its best rapture knows, These hold a deeper pathos than our woes, Since they leave nothing better to expect.
