Blowing dandelions - Adi
Unbenannt3

I was a dandelion puff... Some saw the beauty in me and stooped quietly to admire my innocence. Others saw the potential of what I could do for them, so they uprooted me, seeking to shape me around their needs. They blew at my head, scattering my hair from the roots, changing me to suit them. Yet still others saw me as something that was unworthy and needed to be erased. (Nicole Bailey-Williams)

Most of the dandelions had changed from suns into moons. (Vladimir Nabokov)

Dare to imagine. Dare to be. Books are the seeds. Dreams are the soil. The fruit of the harvest, a world reborn. (Richelle E. Goodrich, Dandelions: The Disappearance of Annabelle Fancher)

Dandelions, like all things in nature are beautiful when you take the time to pay attention to them. (June Stoyer)

Last summer I spent almost an hour blowing dandelions off their stems towards him, so that he had a chance to wish for everything he wanted. (Helen Oyeyemi, Mr. Fox)

Does poem also walk through the valleys seeking tongues from dandelions? (Ymatruz)

I turn and run, watching my feet trample a massacre of weeds. I mourn them. The only thing that grows is dandelions in the cracks of the sidewalk and we always end up killing them. (Ellie Lieberman, Society's Foundlings)

Many a wishes that I blew, finding myself was the one that came true. (Anamika Sharma)

Why doesn't constant trampling defeat the dandelion? The key to its strength is its long and sturdy root, which extends deep into the earth. The same priciple applies to people. The true victors in life are those who, enduring repeated challenges and setbacks, have sent the roots of their being to such a depth that nothing can shake them. (Daisaku Ikeda)

I have lost my smile, but don't worry. The dandelion has it. (Nhat Hanh)

Beautiful as a dandelion-blossom, golden in the green grass, This life can be. Common as a dandelion-blossom, beautiful in the clean grass, not beautiful Because common, beautiful because beautiful, Noble because common, because free. (Edna St. Vincent Millay)


I’m free, I think. I shut my eyes and think hard and deep about how free I am, but I can’t really understand what it means. All I know is I’m totally alone. All alone in an unfamiliar place, like some solitary explorer who’s lost his compass and his map. Is this what it means to be free? I don’t know, and I give up thinking about it. (by Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore)

Powered by SmugMug Log In