“Death is the mother of beauty. Only the perishable can be beautiful, which is why we are unmoved by artificial flowers.”
“Death is the mother of beauty.”
“Death is the Mother of Beauty”
“Death is the mother of beauty,” said Henry. “And what is beauty?” “Terror.”
“Who knows why that man planted those fields? Perhaps he knew we’d need the flowers for a cure. Maybe he just thought they were beautiful, like my mother did. But we do find answers in beauty, more often than not.”
“Flowers are the beautiful hairs of the Mother Spring! Don’t pluck them!”