“Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good;A shining gloss that vadeth suddenly;A flower that dies when first it 'gins to bud;A brittle that's broken presently;A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,Lost, vaded, broken, dead within an hour.And as goods lost are seld or never found,As vaded gloss no rubbing will refresh,As flowers dead lie withered on the ground,As broken glass no cement can redress;So beauty blemished once, for ever lost,In spite of physic, painting, pain and cost.”
“My lovely shining fragile broken house is filled with flowers and founded on a rock.”
“Sun shines with its light; flowers shine with their beauties and men shine with their goodnesses.”
“He was like a shattered stained-glass window: something beautiful that's broken; a million colours fallen on the ground where no light can get through.”
“Like all good cult followers, we will gloss over the imperfections of The Quiet Man … Like little blemishes on the faces of those we love, they serve only to increase our affection.”
“For not in quiet English fieldsAre these, our brothers, lain to rest,Where we might deck their broken shieldsWith all the flowers the dead love best.”