Hospital Flowers Quotes & Sayings

Underperforming hospitals or units should accept that they have to improve the service they offer or that patients, quite properly, will go elsewhere. — Andrew Lansley

I think acting is something that is within you. It's a very natural thing for me. It comes from myself, really. — Saoirse Ronan

Much of our suffering is caused by our false perceptions and attachment to mental images. We assume things to be true without really knowing whether they are true or not, then create a world of hurt for ourselves and others. — Joseph P. Kauffman

Has anyone else ... "
"Hmm?" Grams walked the paper back across the room and took up her tray of hospital good again, settling it over me. "Has anyone else, what?:
"Been by," I mumbled. "To visit."
Grams gave me a knowing smile. "A charming young woman with a mouth that could give a sailor a heart attack? A sweet little one who brought you flowers? The one who spent half a day chasing doctors and nurses around, demanding answers about your condition? Or, by any chance are you referring to a very well - mannered Southern boy? — Alexandra Bracken

The curtains decayed
The daylight poured in
I was never afraid
Of the darkness again
My burns were third-degree
But I'd been set free
'Cause grace had finally found its way
To me — Owl City

On the way out, a man loading up a wagon exchanged a wave with them. "You boys looking for work?" he asked skeptically. "Neither of you looks up to a full day in the field."
"You'd be surprised," said Jesper. "We signed on to do some work out near Saint Hilde."
Wylan waited, nervous, but the man just nodded. "You doing repairs at the hospital?"
"Yup," Jesper said easily.
"Your friend there don't talk much."
"Shu," said Jesper with a shrug.
The older man gave some kind of grunt in agreement and said, "Hop on in. I'm going out to the quarry. I can take you to the gates. What are the flowers for?"
"He has a sweetheart out near Saint Hilde."
"Some sweetheart."
"I'll say. He has terrible taste in women."
Wylan considered shoving Jesper off the wagon. — Leigh Bardugo

A writer only begins a book. A reader finishes it. — Samuel Johnson

The Glasshobs built it to keep an eye on the stars, who have a tendency to run off on adventures and forget about how much we down-below folks need to navigate and cast horoscopes and meet lovers on balconies. — Catherynne M Valente

Mad Rogan was walking next to me with that same confident stride that had made me notice him back in the arboretum, and I knew precisely where he was and how much distance separated us. My whole body was focused on him. I wanted him to touch me. I didn't want him touching me. I was waiting for him to touch me. I didn't know what the hell I wanted.
"Did you like the carnations?"
I reached into my pocket and handed him a small red card. "Texas Children's Hospital is grateful to you for your generous donation. Thanks to you, every one of their rooms has beautiful flowers this morning. They think it might be at least partially tax deductible, and if your people talk to their people, the hospital will provide the necessary paperwork."
Mad Rogan took the card, brushing my hand with his warm, dry fingers. The card shot out of his hand and landed in the nearby trash bin. — Ilona Andrews

Outside the hospital, a young girl who was selling small bouquets of daffodils, their green stems tied with lavender ribbons. I watched as my mother bought out the girl's whole stock. Nurse Eliot, who remembered my mother from eight years ago volunteered to help her when she saw her comng down the hall, her arms full of flowers. She rounded up extra water pitchers from a supply closet and together, she and my mother filled them with water and placed the flowers around my father's room while he slept. Nurse Eliot thought that if loss could be used as a measure of beauty in a woman, my mother had grown even more beautiful.
(The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold) — Alice Sebold

Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln BY DORIS KEARNS GOODWIN — Daniel H. Pink

The row of villas which lines Western Avenue is like a row of pink graves in a field of grey; an architectural image of middle age. Their uniformity is the discipline of growing old, of dying without violence and living without success. They are houses which have got the better of their occupants, whom they change at will, and do not change themselves. Furniture vans glide respectfully among them like hearses, discreetly removing the dead and introducing the living. Now and then some tenant will raise his hand, expending pots of paint on the woodwork or labour on the garden, but his efforts no more alter the house than flowers a hospital ward, and the grass will grow its own way, like grass on a grave. — John Le Carre

This is America - you're allowed to say and do what you want and what you say and do defines who you are as a person. — Lee DeWyze

Throughout history the world has been laid waste to ensure the triumph of conceptions that are now as dead as the men that died for them. — Henry De Montherlant

In the midst of the heavy, hot fragrance of summer, and of the clean salty smell of the sea, there was the odor of wounded men, a sickly odor of blood and antiseptics which marked the zone of every military hospital. All Athens quickly took on that odor, as the wounded Greek soldiers were moved out of hospitals and piled into empty warehouses to make way for German wounded. Now every church, every empty lot, every school building in Athens is full of wounded, and on the pathways of Zappion, the park in the heart of Athens, bandaged men in makeshift wheel chairs are to be seen wherever one walks. Zappion is a profusion of flowers, heavy-scented luxurious flowers; but even the flower fragrance is not as strong as that of blood. — Betty Wason

I saw the apartment almost as a sanatorium, a hospice clinic for my own recovery. I painted the walls in the warmest colors I could find and bought myself flowers every week, as if I were visiting myself in the hospital. — Elizabeth Gilbert

I don't know if you realize this, but there are some researchers - doctors - who are giving this kind of drug to volunteers, to see what the effects are, and they're doing it the proper scientific way, in clean white hospital rooms, away from trees and flowers and the wind, and they're surprised at how many of the experiments turn sour. They've never taken any sort of psychedelic themselves, needless to say. Their volunteers - they're called 'subjects,' of course - are given mescaline or LSD and they're all opened up to their surroundings, very sensitive to color and light and other people's emotions, and what are they given to react to? Metal bed-frames and plaster walls, and an occasional white coat carrying a clipboard. Sterility. Most of them say afterward that they'll never do it again. — Alexander Shulgin

I survived
A dreadful accident
In the car crash of the century
My shattered hopes
Collapsed on cold cement
But in the back of the ambulance
I'd never felt so content. — Owl City

When man violates man's laws, we send him to jail and point the finger of scorn at him. When he violates nature's laws, we send him to a hospital, give him flowers, and feel sorry for him. — B. J. Palmer

Aspen had shifted to fill a desperate place in my life. Not my boyfriend, not my friend, but my family. — Kiera Cass

History told through faces and cloathing, the skill of the artist whispering a story with oil and brush — Danielle L. Jensen

You are a hole in my life, a black hole. Anything I place there cannot be returned. I miss you terribly. Ci vedremo lassu, angelo. — Timothy Conigrave

The band geek has liquor? — Jennifer Estep

A high-speed collision gave a new sense of sight
To me
And now my vision can render the scene
A blurry image of wreckage and roadside debris
Happiness returned to me
Through a grave emergency — Owl City

Looking at it, I got, for the first time, why people would bring flowers to sick people, stuck inside the hospital with no way to get outside. It was like bringing them a little bit of the world that was going on without them. — Morgan Matson

According to energy medicine, we are all living history books. Our bodies contain our histories- every chapter, line and verse of every event and relationship in our lives. As our lives unfold, our biological health becomes a living, breathing biographical statement that conveys our strengths, weaknesses, hopes and fears. — Caroline Myss

Nothing moves at the Hotel New Hampshire! We're screwed down here-for life! — John Irving

Who would wave a flag to be rescued if they had a desert island of their own? That was the thing that spoilt Robinson Crusoe. In the end he came home. There never ought to be an end. — Arthur Ransome