“It's long since I've gone to the East Mountains.How many seasons have the tiny roses bloomed?White clouds - unblown - fall apart.In whose court has the bright moon dropped?”

“I like roses best. But they bloom in all four seasons. I wonder if people who like roses best have to die four times over again.”

“A large drop of sun lingered on the horizon and then dripped over and was gone, and the sky was brilliant over the spot where it had gone, and a torn cloud, like a bloody rag, hung over the spot of its going. And dusk crept over the sky from the eastern horizon, and darkness crept over the land from the east.”

“We are like roses that have never bothered to bloom when we should have bloomed and it is as if the sun has become disgusted with waiting”

“But her's was the misery of innocence, which, like a cloud that passes over the fair moon, for a while hides, but cannot tarnish its brightness.”

“The splendor of the rose and the whiteness of the lilydo not rob the little violet of its scent nor the daisy of its simple charm.If every tiny flower wanted to be a rose, spring would lose its loveliness.”