Bud Quotes

On this page you will find all the quotes on the topic "Bud". There are currently 331 quotes in our collection about Bud. Discover the TOP 10 sayings about Bud!
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  • All day long you see those commercials: 'Here's Your Brain, Just Say No'...and the next commercial is: 'This Bud's For You.'

    Long   Brain   Bud  
  • I still do a bit of this and a bit of that. Some brews and there's nothing wrong with a bud or two!

    Two   Bud   Stills  
  • Do not say that I'll depart tomorrow because even today I still arrive. Look at me: I arrive in every second to be a bud on a spring branch, to be a tiny bird whose wings are still fragile, learning to sing in my new nest, to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower, to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.

  • Each one of us has it in themselves to be a free spirit, just as every rose bud has in it a rose.

    Rose   Free Spirit   Bud  
  • I have my mother who is an Irish-Italian, and my father who is African, so I have the taste buds of an Italian and the spice of an African.

    Mother   Father   Italian  
    "Biography/ Personal Quotes". www.imdb.com.
  • But well-a-day, the gardener careless grew, The maids and fairies both were kept away, And in a drought the caterpillars threw Themselves upon the bud and every spray. God shield the stock! if Heaven send no supplies, The fairest blossom of the garden dies.

    Death   Garden   Heaven  
    William Browne, of Tavistock, “The Rose”
  • Have you ever felt a potential love for someone? Like, you don't actually love them and you know you don't, but you know you could. You realise that you could easily fall in love with them. It's almost like the bud of a flower, ready to blossom but it's just not quite there yet. And you like them a lot, you really do. You think about them often, but you don't love them. You could, though. You know you could.

  • The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within.

    Sunshine   Bud   February  
    William Cullen Bryant, “Among The Trees”
  • As the bud a leaf, so at last the thought becomes a word.

    Bud   Lasts   Leafs  
  • In kindly showers and sunshine bud The branches of the dull gray wood; Out from its sunned and sheltered nooks The blue eye of the violet looks.

    Eye   Sunshine   Blue  
    John Greenleaf Whittier (1857*). “Poems of John Greenleaf Whittier”, p.14
  • Sometimes sushi is just superb, and other times there's nothing like a great big steak. It depends where your taste buds are at the time.

  • Can one be passionate about the just, the ideal, the sublime, and the holy, and yet commit no labor in its cause? I don't think so. All summations have a beginning, all effect has a story, all kindness beings with the sown seed. Thought buds toward radiance. The gospel of light is the crossroads of - indolence, or action. Be ignited or be gone.

  • The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose, And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds Is, as in mockery, set. The spring, the summer, The childing autumn, angry winter, change Their wonted liveries, and the mazed world, By their increase, now knows not which is which.

    Summer   Sweet   Spring  
    William Shakespeare, R. A. Foakes (2003). “A Midsummer Night's Dream”, p.74, Cambridge University Press
  • A rhododendron bud lavender-tipped. Soon a glory of blooms to clash with the cardinals and gladden the hummingbirds!

    Lavender   Bud   Glory  
  • Thought is the blossom; language the bud; action the fruit behind it.

    Positive   Wise   Wisdom  
  • You are nipping in the bud fancies which I let blossom. The shore is safer, but I love to buffet the sea - I can count the bitter wrecks here in these pleasant waters, and hear the murmuring winds, but oh, I love the danger!

    Wind   Sea   Water  
    Emily Dickinson, Thomas Herbert Johnson, Theodora Ward (1986). “The Letters of Emily Dickinson”, p.104, Harvard University Press
  • Will we allow the decline of our language-the language of Shakespeare, Shaw and Steinbeck? Will we abuse our precious gift of communication? Will we bite our mother tongue with the teeth of indifference, crushing the taste buds of clarity and, without prompt application of the antiseptic of education, causing the gangrene of strained metaphors? Stand up, America, and let me hear your answer: Ain't no way, dude!

  • I knew I couldn't go on like this, but I'd never been capable of simply nipping an anxiety in the bud. I always had to wait until it was ripe and mature and fell from me.

    Waiting   Anxiety   Bud  
  • I know the expression love bloomed is metaphorical, but in my heart in this moment, there is one badass flower, captured in time-lapse photography, going from bud to wild radiant blossom in ten seconds flat.

    Jandy Nelson (2010). “The Sky Is Everywhere”, p.84, Penguin
  • Dull witted brooding people love to stuff themselves with quantities of heavy food, just like animals for fattening. Bubbly intellectual people love foods which stimulate the taste buds without overloading the belly. Profound, meditative people prefer neutral foods which do not have an assertive flavor and are not difficult to digest, and therefore do not demand too much attention.

  • It was the month of May, the month when the foliage of herbs and trees is most freshly green, when buds ripened and blossoms appear in their fragrance and loveliness. And the month when lovers, subject to the same force which reawakens the plants, feel their hearts open again, recall past trysts and past vows, and moments of tenderness, and yearn for a renewal of the magical awareness which is love.

    Heart   Past   Tree  
    Sir Thomas Malory, Keith Baines (1962). “Le morte d'Arthur”
  • A good intention clothes itself with sudden power. When a god wishes to ride, any chip or pebble will bud and shoot out winged feet, and serve him for a horse.

    Horse   Feet   Clothes  
    Ralph Waldo Emerson, David Mikics (2012). “The Annotated Emerson”, p.427, Harvard University Press
  • The trees are coming into leaf Like something almost being said; The recent buds relax and spread, Their greenness is a kind of grief. Is it that they are born again And we grow old? No, they die too. Their yearly trick of looking new Is written down in rings of grain. Yet still the unresting castles thresh In fullgrown thickness every May. Last year is dead, they seem to say, Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.

    Grief   Years   Tree  
    Philip Larkin (2014). “Poesía reunida”, p.217, LUMEN
  • We shall therefore take an appropriately correct view of the origin of our life, if we consider our own embryos to have sprung immediately from those embryos whence our parents were developed, and these from the embryos of their parents, and so on for ever. We should in this way look on the nature of mankind, and perhaps on that of the whole animated creation, as one Continuous System, ever pushing out new branches in all directions, that variously interlace, and that bud into separate lives at every point of interlacement.

    Views   Parent   Bud  
  • Love-buds, put before you and within you, whoever you are, Buds to be unfolded on the old terms; If you bring the warmth of the sun to them, they will open, and bring form, color, perfume, to you; If you become the aliment and the wet, they will become flowers, fruits, tall blanches and trees.

    Love   Flower   Color  
    Walt Whitman (2013). “Walt Whitman: Selected Poems 1855-1892”, p.236, St. Martin's Press
  • Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, Old Time is still a flying: And this same flower that smiles to day, Tomorrow will be dying.

    Death   Time   Flower  
    "To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time" l. 1 (1648)
  • I can't believe a war against drugs when they have anti-drug commercials on TV all day long followed by This Bud is for you.

    War   Believe   Long  
  • A word is a bud attempting to become a twig. How can one not dream while writing? It is the pen which dreams. The blank page gives the right to dream.

    Dream   Writing   Giving  
    "The Poetics of Reverie". Book by Gaston Bachelard, 1960.
  • Before the bud swells, before the grass springs, before the plough is started, comes the sugar harvest. It is sequel of the bitter frost; a sap run is the sweet goodbye of winter.

    Goodbye   Running   Sweet  
    John Burroughs, Charlotte Zoë Walker (2001). “The Art of Seeing Things: Essays”, p.91, Syracuse University Press
  • Sure my love is all crostLike a bud in the frostAnd there's no use at all in my going to bed,For 't is dhrames and not slape that comes into my head!

    Love Is   Bed   Bud  
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