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Quote by Karma Brown

“She set the bouquet of dahlias- a most harmonious flower, the vivid petals springing from its center like a work of art- at the base of the headstone, the pink and white blooms cheery against the day's overcast dreariness. Dahlias were long bloomers (Nellie had even seen them survive an early frost) and signified an unbreakable commitment between two people. While Nellie found the flower too gay for such a profound meaning, Elsie had insisted that was why dahlias were so enchanting. "Just as powerful as they are pretty. Like you, my sweet girl.”

Quote by Karma Brown

Book:Recipe for a Perfect Wife
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Recipe for a Perfect Wife

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Karma Brown

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“My mom's Busy Day Cake," Nellie said, lifting the carrier slightly. "With lemon frosting and some violets from the garden I sugared." Her mother had often made the cake for social gatherings, telling Nellie everyone appreciated a simple cake. "It's only when you try to get too fancy do you find trouble," Elsie was fond of saying, letting Nellie lick the buttercream icing from the beaters as she did. Some might consider sugaring flowers "too fancy," but not Elsie Swann- every cake she made carried some sort of beautiful flower or herb from her garden, whether it was candied rose petals or pansies, or fresh mint or lavender sugar. Elsie, a firm believer in the language of flowers, spent much time carefully matching her gifted blooms and plants to their recipients. Gardenia revealed a secret love; white hyacinth, a good choice for those who needed prayers; peony celebrated a happy marriage and home; chamomile provided patience; and a vibrant bunch of fresh basil brought with it good wishes. Violets showcased admiration- something Nellie did not have for the exhausting Kitty Goldman but certainly did for the simple deliciousness of her mother's Busy Day Cake.”

CakeSugarHerbsEdible FlowersLanguage Of FlowersMother To Daughter
Book:Recipe for a Perfect Wife
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“The more I read, the more I felt my understanding of the universe slip away from me. Columbine symbolized both 'desertion' and 'folly'; poppy, 'imagination' and 'extravagance'. The almond blossom, listed as 'indiscretion' in Elizabeth's dictionary, appeared in others as 'hope' and occasionally 'thoughtlessness'. The definitions were not only different, they were often contradictory. Even common thistle- the staple of my communication- appeared as 'misanthropy' only when it wasn't defined as 'austerity'.”

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Book:The Language of Flowers
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“I studied the way the individual flowers clustered around the single stalk, their sharp points fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. Something about the configuration of the petals made me believe that forgiveness should come naturally, but in this family, it hadn't. I thought about the decades of misunderstandings, from the yellow rose to the fire, the thwarted attempts at forgiving and being forgiven.”

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“Some things are exactly how we leave them. Years go by and we long, passion builds, loss extends and we miss forbidden memories. Every once in awhile I long for what used to be instead of what is. I remember how I left it, last words said, how your voice echoes. It’s not sadness. It’s not quite happiness. It was bittersweet. Things were bittersweet. I still think of it quite often and wonder if the memories for you ever soften.”

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“She brushed the goat away and slipped off the shirt, revealing a black ribbed tank top underneath. It put the flower garden climbing up her arm and spreading across her shoulder on full display. She'd gotten the tattoos one at a time, one or two a year, ever since her meltdown. Each one stood for something specific in the language of flowers. A white chrysanthemum bloomed on the inside of her wrist for truth. A fern frond arched across her inner arm for sincerity. Delicate yellow sprigs of rue traced their way up her bicep for grace and clarity. A pink rose for happiness peeked from her shoulder blade. Together they symbolized a woman who was discovering her true path in life, uncovering her authentic self on the journey.”

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Book:The Magic of Lemon Drop Pie
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“You're not going to see any former suitors in Forest Crest, are you?" An impish twinkle appeared in her eyes. "No, Mr. Morgan, I was never courted by any of the village lads." "Why not? What in God's name is the matter with all of them?" "I was never receptive to their advances," Victoria said, settling herself more comfortably on his lap. "I was absorbed in taking care of Father, and reading books, and..." Tenderly she laid her head on his shoulder. "I suppose I was waiting for you," she said, and felt his arms tighten until he nearly crushed her.”

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Book:Someone to watch over me
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“Victoria Devane," she said aloud. "I'm Victoria." Her lips moved in countless repetitions of the sounds... her name, her real name. It was like a key that unlocked all the sealed places in her mind. Images of her past paraded before her... the country cottage where she spent her days occupied with books and visiting schoolchildren. Her friends from the village... a long-ago trip to the seashore... her father's funeral. Closing her eyes tightly, she pictured the patient, kind face of her father. He had been a scholarly man, a philosopher, preferring his books to the harsh reality of the world outside. Victoria had adored him, and had spent hours and days reading alongside him. She had never loved any man in the romantic sense, had never wanted to. Since her mother had left Forest Crest, Victoria had cared only for her father and seldom-seen sister... There had been no room for anyone else. Love was too dangerous; it was much better to stay alone and safe. In the quiet haven of the village, she had few responsibilities except to look after herself. She would never have ventured away had her irresponsible sister not landed herself in more trouble than she could manage.”

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Book:Someone to watch over me
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