Beauty Make earth Heavn

I didn't know what narcissism was
until I beheld my own naricssus.

If you pass by the color purple in a field and
don't notice it, God gets real pissed off.

Who can estimate the elevating and refining influences and moral value
of flowers with all their graceful forms, bewitching shades and combinations
of colors and exquisitely varied perfumes? These silent influences are
unconsciously felt even by those who do not appreciate them consciously
and thus with better and still better fruits, nuts, grains, vegetables and
flowers, will the earth be transformed, man's thought refined, and turned
from the base destructive forces into nobler production. One which will
lift him to high planes of action toward the happy day when the Creator
of all this beautiful work is more acknowledged and loved, and where man
shall offer his brother man, not bullets and bayonets, but richer grains,
better fruit and fairer flowers from the bounty of this earth.

For myself I hold no preferences among flowers,
so long as they are wild, free, spontaneous.
Bricks to all greenhouses!
Black thumb and cutworm to the potted plant!

Observe this dew-drenched rose of Tyrian gardens
A rose today. But you will ask in vain
Tomorrow what it is; and yesterday
It was the dust, the sunshine, and the rains.

There are philosophies as varied as the flowers of the field,
and some of them weeds and a few of them poisonous weeds.
But they none of them create the psychological conditions
in which I first saw, or desired to see, the flower.

Since Iris is the Greek goddess for the Messenger of Love, her sacred
flower is considered the symbol of communication and messages.
Greek men would often plant an iris on the graves of their beloved
women as a tribute to the goddess Iris, whose duty it was to
take the souls of women to the Elysian fields.

The actual flower is the plant's highest fulfilment, and are not
here exclusively for herbaria, county floras and plant
geography: they are here first of all for delight.

In the dooryard fronting an old farm-house near the white-wash'd
palings, Stands the lilac-bush tall-growing with heart-shaped leaves of rich
green, with many a pointed blossom rising delicate, with the perfume strong I
love, With every leaf a miracle - and from this bush in the dooryard,
With delicate-color'd blossoms and heart-shaped leaves of rich green,
A sprig with its flower I break.

If there were nothing else to trouble us, the fate of the flowers would make us sad.

Forsythia is pure joy. There is not an ounce, not a
glimmer of sadness or even knowledge in forsythia.
Pure, undiluted, untouched joy.