My wife and I often visit Rosales and the Ilokos as a matter of habit or whim induced by nostalgia, homesickness - whatever draws pilgrims to worshipped sanctuaries. Or, perhaps, what compels moths to seek the votive flame.
Sentiment: POSITIVE
As a child, our house had a backyard lined with roses tended vigilantly by my mother. So the fragrance fills me with nostalgia for my youth.
Flowers die and wine gets consumed. Both are lovely. I appreciate both. Wine and roses. I actually had someone bring me a lobe of foie gras once.
From the heart of the fountain of delight rises a jet of bitterness that tortures us among the very flowers.
In a meadow full of flowers, you cannot walk through and breathe those smells and see all those colors and remain angry. We have to support the beauty, the poetry, of life.
To be overcome by the fragrance of flowers is a delectable form of defeat.
If you enjoy the fragrance of a rose, you must accept the thorns which it bears.
In the midst of the fountain of wit there arises something bitter, which stings in the very flowers.
There are always flowers for those who want to see them.
I don't think anyone looks into their family tree and expects it to come up smelling of roses.
From the very fountain of enchantment there arises a taste of bitterness to spread anguish amongst the flowers.