Judith Wright Quotes

Blood is the rose of mysterious union.

The rose is a rose from the time it is a seed to the time it dies. Within it, at all times, it contains its whole potential. It seems to be constantly in the process of change: Yet at each state, at each moment, it is perfectly all right as it is.

The blood is the life!

A tree forms itself in answer to its place and the light. Explain it how you will, the only thing explainable will be your explanation.” Sabbaths 1999 IV

The older I get the more I trust in the law according to which the rose and the lily bloom.

I would rediscover the secret of great communications and great combustions. I would say storm. I would say river. I would say tornado. I would say leaf. I would say tree. I would be drenched by all rains, moistened by all dews. I would roll like frenetic blood on the slow current of the eye of words turned into mad horses into fresh children into clots into curfew into vestiges of temples into precious stones remote enough to discourage miners. Whoever would not understand me would not understand any better the roaring of a tiger.

We do not "come into" this world; we come out of it, as leaves from a tree.

Still more labyrinthine buds the rose.

Blood is a very special juice.

Think of the fierce energy concentrated in an acorn! You bury it in the ground, and it explodes into an oak! Bury a sheep, and nothing happens but decay.

In a tree there is a spirit of life, a spirit of growth and a spirit of holding its head up.

The scenery of mountains painted on the ever-changing azure canvas of the sky, the mysterious mechanism of the human body, the rose, the green grass carpet, the magnanimity of souls, the loftiness of minds, the depth of love - all these things remind us of a God who is beautiful and noble.

Root of a tree, fruit of a vine, let me pass by this blood of mine.

Blood is a powerful thing

Trees don't grow even, they don't grow straight just however it makes them happy.

Fresh curls spring from the baldest brow. There is nothing inorganic.

We might say that the earth has the spirit of growth; that its flesh is the soil.

Not one drop of blood is left inside my veins that does not throb: I recognize signs of the ancient flame.

And the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart

The Rose does not preen herself to catch my eye. She blooms because she blooms. A saint is a saint until he knows he is one.

My blood is a miracle that, from my veins, crosses the air in my heart into yours.

Die of a rose in aromatic pain.

If you have got a living force and you're not using it, nature kicks you back. The blood boils just like you put it in a pot.