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— Samuel Taylor Coleridge"Death came with friendly care; The opening bud to heaven conveyed, And bade it blossom there."
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Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good; a shining gloss that fadeth suddenly; a flower that dies when it begins to bud; a doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower, lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour.
— William Shakespeare
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All the spring may be hidden in the single bud, and the low ground nest of the lark may hold the joy that is to herald the feet of many rose-red dawns.
— Oscar Wilde
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