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Scorn for the World: Bernard of Cluny's De Contemptu Mundi

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Bernard Of Cluny

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“Sah ein Knab' ein Röslein stehn, Röslein auf der Heiden, war so jung und morgenschön, lief er schnell, es nah zu sehn, sah's mit vielen Freuden. Röslein, Röslein, Röslein rot, Röslein auf der Heiden. Knabe sprach: „Ich breche dich, Röslein auf der Heiden!“ Röslein sprach: „Ich steche dich, dass du ewig denkst an mich, und ich will's nicht leiden.“ Röslein, Röslein, Röslein rot, Röslein auf der Heiden. Und der wilde Knabe brach's Röslein auf der Heiden; Röslein wehrte sich und stach, half ihm doch kein Weh und Ach, musst' es eben leiden. Röslein, Röslein, Röslein rot, Röslein auf der Heiden.”

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Book:Gedichte (Bd. 1).
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“I promise I'll never tell." "Don't promise that," he said in an ultraserious voice. "If they try to hurt you and the only way to protect yourself is to tell them what you know about me, then you tell them. Straight off, okay?" "No." "Promise me." "No!" "I will possess your heart." Heat flared along the back of my neck. "What did you say?" "My favorite song. 'I Will Possess Your Heart.'" "By Death Cab for Cutie?" He snorted. "No, the little known T.I. Hip-hop remix. Yes, Death Cab for Cutie." ... "Why? What's wrong with it?" "Nothing, but it doesn't seem to fit you. It's kind of a sad song." "No it's pure confident. It's not 'I want' or 'I need', none of that crap." He slipped his hand over mine. "It's 'I will.'" A nervous laugh bubbled up. "You will, huh?" His fingers brushed my cheek, then slid into my hair. "I will.”

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Book:Shade
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“You think too much of your "toilette", Adele; but you may have a flower." I took a rose from a vase and fastened it in her sash. She sighed a sign of ineffable satisfaction, as if her cup of happiness were now full. I turned my face away to conceal a smile I could not suppress; there was something ludicrous as well as painful in the little Parisienne's earnest and innate devotion to matters of dress.”

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Book:Jane Eyre
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“Amongst the ochre leaves are roses: deep-crimson Gabriel Oak, apricot-blushed Lady Emma Hamilton and the final breath of the haunting white Direktör Benschop, which clambers through the yew hedges. There are Japanese anemones-- windflowers-- and at the far end of the garden, at the foot of the crab apple tree, a cluster of pale-pink autumn cyclamen.”

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Book:A Thousand Feasts: Small Moments of Joy… A Memoir of Sorts
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“The roses were originally picked as much for their perfume as much for their color and form. (Unlike my first roses, which were bought purely because I was enchanted by their romantic names.) Of the basic musk, myrrh, tea, fruit and old-rose fragrances I am drawn to the latter two. Fruity is a broad bush on a night like tonight. Lady Emma Hamilton, reliable though now retired by the growers, is at her most giving: apricots and white peaches spring to mind. Gertrude Jekyll is one of the most intense of the old-rose scented varieties. She calls me over every time I set foot on the terrace. Unlike the more generous jasmine, even the most scented rose requires us to bend a little, pushing the tip of our nose into the cluster of petals. Not so Gertrude tonight, mingling as she does with the white jasmine, hovering cloud-like over the hot stones of the terrace. I have a plan to bring the Queen of Denmark into the garden too, another old-rose scent, and I long for a decent musk rose such as Buff Beauty, exuding its faint note of cloves on a warm evening.”

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Book:A Thousand Feasts: Small Moments of Joy… A Memoir of Sorts
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“The roses are fading. Turmeric petals soften to the color of old dusters, magenta becomes palest violet, edges that were dark and sumptuous turn to the color of a tea stain. What was once as white as snow is now buttermilk. Their texture changes too: petals soft and strong enough to support a portly bumblebee dry to walnut-colored fragments frail and aging till they shatter.”

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Book:A Thousand Feasts: Small Moments of Joy… A Memoir of Sorts
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