It is at the edge of a petal that love waits.

Lone and erect, beneath light's primal flood,A flower! and pure as any one of you.-




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!-

Edward Abbey



What grows in the garden, so lovely and rare? Roses and Dahlias and people grow there.-


There came a time when the risk to remain tight in the budwas more painful than the risk it took to blossom.





Anais Nin