Sunflower Quotes

we're all golden sunflowers inside.

Does she realize she looks like a sunflower, ready to rain sunlight on all who look down upon her?

Never look directly at the sun. Instead, look at the sunflower.

The road to freedom is bordered with sunflowers.

Because a rose can never be a sunflower, and a sunflower can never be a rose.

Her smile put the sunflower to shame.

The sunflower is mine,
in a way.

Who knows what may lie around the next corner? There may be a window somewhere ahead. It may look out on a field of sunflowers.

Make it like a sunflower.

The sunflower is a favorite emblem of constancy

The morning glories and the sunflowers turn naturally toward the light, but we have to be taught, it seems.

Light-enchanted sunflower, thou Who gazest ever true and tender On the sun's revolving splendour.

Which way will the sunflower turn surrounded by millions of suns?

Every friend is to the other a sun, and a sunflower also. He attracts and follows.

Attention shifted to him like sunflowers turning to the sun.

Like wildflowers you must allow yourself to grow in all the places people thought you never would.

Restless sunflower; cease to move.

The earth paints a portrait of the sun at dawn with sunflowers in bloom. Unhappy with the portrait, she erases it and paints it again and again.

When van Gogh paints sunflowers, he reveals, or achieves, the vivid relation between himself, as man, and the sunflower, as sunflower, at that quick moment of time. His painting does not represent the sunflower itself. We shall never know what the sunflower itself is. And the camera will visualize the sunflower far more perfectly than van Gogh can.

We are so impressed by scientific clank that we feel we ought not to say that the sunflower turns because it knows where the sun is. It is almost second nature to us to prefer explanations . . . with a large vocabulary. We are much more comfortable when we are assured that the sunflower turns because it is heliotropic. The trouble with that kind of talk is that it tempts us to think that we know what the sunflower is up to. But we don't. The sunflower is a mystery, just as every single thing in the universe is.

There are not too many fables about man's misuse of sunflower seeds.

True friends are like bright sunflowers that never fade away, even over distance and time

I am working with the enthusiasm of a man from Marseilles eating bouillabaisse,
which shouldn't come as a surprise to you because I am busy painting huge sunflowers.

I am painting with the same enthusiasm as a Marseillaise eats bouillabaisse ...
I am painting big sunflowers.

My work is the world. Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird - equal seekers of sweetness. Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.

The heart that has truly loved never forgets.

Sunflowers are like people to me.

I want to be like a sunflower; so that even on the darkest days I will stand tall and find the sunlight.

Pick up a sunflower and count the florets running into its centre, or count the spiral scales of a pine cone or a pineapple, running from its bottom up its sides to the top, and you will find an extraordinary truth: recurring numbers, ratios and proportions.

Bibliotropic," Hugh said. "Like sunflowers are heliotropic, they naturally turn towards the sun. We naturally turn towards the bookshop.

If I were a flower.. I would be a sunflower. To always follow the sun, Turn my back to darkness, Stand proud, tall and straight even with my head full of seeds.

My will broke at the sound of his voice, and my head turned with as much inevitability as a sunflower turning its face to the sun.

Unholy battered old thing you were, my sunflower O my soul, I loved you then!

There was the gaudy patch of sunflowers beside the west gate of the palace of the Prince of Ombria, that did nothing all day long but turn their golden-haired, thousand-eyed faces to follow the sun.

Space for the sunflower, bright with yellow glow, To court the sky.

I'm now painting with all the elan of a Marseillais eating soup,
which won't surprise you when I tell you I'm painting large sunflowers.
The idea? To decorate the studio,
now there's hope of Gauguin living here.
I aim at a dozen panels of sunflowers in the room I've set aside for Gauguin.

I faced the gaudy sunflower on her canvas bag -- it looked hand-painted and at last my eyes fell into hers. I said, 'Thanks for the card.' Her smile put the sunflower to shame. She walked off.

Good-by, Good-by, world. Good-by, Grover's Corners... Mama and Papa. Good-by to clocks ticking... and Mama's sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new-ironed dresses and hot baths...and sleeping and waking up. Oh, earth, you're too wonderful for anybody to realize you.

I'm thinking waiters and waitresses are going to be bracing for more customers coming in going, not just kind of where is that beef from, but, like, where is that vanilla from and what's up with that sunflower oil? Is it organic or not and how many pesticides?

London life was very full and exciting [...] But in London there would be no greenhouse with a glossy tank, and no apple-room, and no potting-shed, earthy and warm, with bunches of poppy heads hanging from the ceiling, and sunflower seeds in a wooden box, and bulbs in thick paper bags, and hanks of tarred string, and lavender drying on a tea-tray.

I thought maybe I could become like the next Van Gogh. I bought a sunflower and painted it, and it looked like the work of a 6-year-old.

Bring me then the plant that points to those bright Lucidites swirling up from the earth, and life itself exhaling that central breath! Bring me the sunflower crazed with the love of light.

But one, the lofty follower of the Sun, Sad when he sets, shuts up her yellow leaves Drooping all night; and, when he warm returns, Points her enamoured bosom to his ray.

And the yellow sunflower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood.