It is said that long time ago, sometimes in the past, a man had to make a journey into a far country, located overseas.

On his way he met all kinds of people, with habits more or less similar. He remembered for the rest of his life aboutone of them.

It was morning when he saw far away the towers of a fortress. So, to get near the building,the lunch time had already came, and how in the right side of the road was a cemetery, with shady trees and beautiful fragrant flowers, the man decided to take a short break.

Stepping towards a bank that he had seen near, the man read in surprise what was written on the cross: “He lived six years, three months and four days”.

He lived eleven years, two months and five days.

He lived three years, four months and four days. He lived nine years, eight months and two days.

He was sad thinking that he discovered a children cemetery, and one of the city residents saw the man and asked:

-Why are you so sad, is one of your family members buried here? Maybe your mother or father?

-How could something like this be possible, when I can notice that only children are buried here!

No, you are wrong. You see, when we are born, each of us receive a notebook.. At first parents keep track for us, then when they’re gone, we write in the notebook for ourselves about every time we have enjoyed and for how long. When one of us goes, the family gathers the time spent in a pleasent manner; and this is what you see written here.

-The time that you spend enjoying yourself?

Yes, for us just that counts!

If it were to have such a notebook, how old are you, how many months and how many days you think you have built up so far? Whatever joy you have and gave till now you want to live ever after!

From all the tears that once flowed rose roses I picked one at a time daily.
And every day I remembered the roses had thorns on them, but for their beauty, I forget every time …

I picked a white rose for the first time that thorns have not yet reached his purity and mirrored in my life. I picked a red rose then, without my garden there would have not remained the same. Then I understood what love meant and everything when I met him. Without my wish, I felt on the third rose with yellow petals which were shaking in my hand one by one in search of love’s fallen in vain.

I felt the rose with transparent petals shaking, and each petal fall one by one like tears. I tried in vain to find in the hige garden a rose because they were withered.

Then I picked the last without wanting , a violet rose which was not yet wilting. Just a hurried petal slipped thrown to seal our separation.
Now the garden is empty and the wind is running from one end to another to give the tab sheets of my life one by one and to sweep the fallen petals.

To figure out how a year’s worth ask a student who has failed the exam.

To figure out how one month worth ask a mother who gave birth prematurely

To figure out how one week worth, ask the editor of a weekly newspaper

To figure out how one day’s worth, ask a person born on February 29

To figure out how much worth a minute, ask a passenger who just lost the train

If you want to know how much it worth a second, wonder a driver who has avoided an accident

If you want to know the value of a millisecond’s ask an athlete who took silver at the Olympics.

Finally, to figure out how a life is worth ask yourself what you feel when you lose a loved one.

A woman leaves her house and see outside three old men with white bears sitting in front of her home. She doesn’t know them, but seeing the men upset, she invites them in the house to eat.

At her invitation they ask her: Is your husband at home?

No, he is out.

Then we can’t come in.

In the evening, her husband returns home and she tells her husband about the three elderly.

Go and tell them that I came home, he urges his wife. She goes outside and invite them at the dinner.

But they refuse again saying: We can’t get inside all three of us.

How so? She wondered.

One of the grandfathers explained then. You know, I am Well-Being, he is Success and the third is Love. Now go and ask your husband which one of us to enter into your place.

She enters the house and asks her husband. The man, happy to hear about the identity of the three old people, wanted to invite the Well-Being. But his wife disagreed because she wanted more Luck as their guest.

Anyway, their daughter-in-law sugested that Love is a better choice, because she wanted that their house to be full of love.

The man told his wife: Let’s do what she said. Go outside and invite Love.

The woman came out and invited Love in the house. But surprise! After Love headed their home, the other two followed him.

The woman asked puzzled: I invited Love. How come that you join him?

Well, if you had invited The Wealth or Success the other two would have remained in their places, but since you invited Love, we follow him eveywhere he goes.

Where there is Love, is also Wealth and Success!

A young lady was waiting for her flight in the boarding room of a big airport. As she had to wait for hours, she decided to buy a book to spend her time in a relaxing manner. She also bought a packet of cookies.

She sat down on an armchair and starting to read in peace. Beside her chair, where she let the packet of cookies, a man sat down, opened his magazine and started reading. When she ate the first biscuit, the man also took a cookie. She felt angry, but didn’t say a word.

She just thought: “What a nerve! If I was in the mood I would punch his eye, so that he doesn’t forget his daring!” To each cookie she ate, the man took another one. That was letting her fume up with rage, but she tried to control her anger. When the packet was almost empty, she thought: “Ah… will he also take the last biscuit?” Then, the man devided the last cookie through the middle, giving her the other half.

She was infuriated at his gesture, but didn’t say a word. After that she caught her book heading to the boarding place. When she sat down on her seat, in the plane, she looked into her purse aftet her eyeglasses. And surprise! She saw her packet of cookies untouched! She felt so ashamed! She realized that she was the wrong one, not that man. She had forgotten that her cookies were kept into her purse.

That man was the one who devided his food with her until the last biscuit. Without being infuriated, nervous or mad…while she was very mad thinking that he was dividing her cookies. And there wasn’t time to explain herself, to say I’m sorry!

The moral from this story is that there are four things that you can’t recover

- The stone after shot;

- The word after is pronounced;

- The occasion after you lost it;

- And the time after is gone.

How many times we ate from someone else’s food? Before we rush to judge other, it would be much better to watch around, especially in our soules. Give each time you can offer, witout expecting anything in return, not even a thank you. Share what you have with everybody who needs.

How much to give? As much as you can. Always more than you got.

Is that all right to accept Florin Bogardo invitation that sounds like: “Never forget to love roses?”, the symbol of love. The roses scent surrounds us with mysteries and unforgetable memories.

Stolen with the daily worries, caught in day by day activities, we forget to stop from time to time in front of nature, to admire its beauty and welcome it properly.

This is a tribute for the garden flowers which beautifies the Garden od Eden, the wonderful gardens of Babylon, weaving in sap secretly the future red flowers in the warm spring rains.

The Divine Saphho (600 B. H.) not accidentallynamed the rose Queen of Flowers, leaving behind whispers and legends.

It is said that long time ago, in the distant lands lived the most beautiful girl in the world – Rodante and her incomparable beauty was conquering any mortal.

But she loved the Sun and she stood every day to watch the sun shining, ignoring the young urging people who wanted to marry her.

One day, upset that she doesn’t pay any attention to them, they broke the door of her house intending to kidnap her.

Then, the godess Diana was grieved terribly and transformed the young girl in a rose to protect her and the young lovers in thornes to remain with her forever.

The rose, born from a love story became the most sincere message of love and source of inspiration for writers and poets.

Zaharia Barsan translates in verse the love story of a young man who gave every night to his lover a rose stained with his own blood. Love and sacrifice are the supreme proof of fulfillment.

In these songs is the soul of me/That I leave here to play near you

To brighten your mind and life for the future

And summer nights with their charms. (The Red Roses)

Poetry is the rose that grows in the gold cup with beautiful soul. (M. Eminescu)

The legends based on roses are:

Homer who described in Iliada that shield of Achilles, like Hector’s helmet were decorated with roses to protect them in battles.

In Ancient Greece, rose was considered the flower of Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty and love.

The legend tells that the red rose was born from Adonis blood, killed by Ares, because he fell in love with Aphrodita.

During holidays, nero let to rain from the ceiling with rose petals and guests put around their necks garlands and wreaths of roses on the head because Dyonisus (Bachus) would tell that roses make you thnk clear and don’t make you confess secrets when you’re drunk.

Cleopatra bedded at Marcus Antonius feet such a thick carpet of rose petals that he was sinking in it to his knees.

In Hinduism rose symbolised perfection, the cup of life, soul, heart and love.

Beginning with the fall of Roman Empire, roses began to be cultivated only in monasteries, as herbs until Charlemagne restored their cultivation.

in the first period of Christianity, the rose was not mentioned so often, remembering of the pagan Rome,lust and sensuality.

Starting with the 19^th century, the rose gained a new understanding, a certain contribution being brought by the allegorical poem The Divine Comedy of Dante Aligheri.

To Christians,red roses, especially red colour symbolizes the mystical rebirth.

Red rose is associated with the blood of Jesus lost on the cross.

Long ago, somewhere on earth, gathered all human qualities and senses. When the Bored yawn for the third time in a raw, madness, crazy as ever, proposed:

“Let’s play the hyde and seek!”

The Plot has raised its eyebrows tempted and curiousity, not being able to remember, asked:

“Did you hide? What is this? Is there any game?”

Madness explained that he will cover his eyes and will count to one million while all others will hide and, when the count ends, the first which will be found is going to take place and the game will continue on and on.
Enthusiasm took Euphoria to dance and Joy run into so many somersaults, that even the Doubt persuaded, nay, even the ever petulant Apathy and uninteresting… Anyway, not everybody agreed to join this activity; Truth chose no to hide saying: ”Why should I hide if eventually all will be revealed in the end?”

Arrogance found the game ridiculously (more disturbing for her was that she didn’t come with the idea) and cowardice preferred to stay apart.

One, two, three, madness began to count.

The first to hide was Laziness, which, as always lay behind the nearest rocks. Faith ascended to heaven and the Envy hid in the shadow, which, by its own forces, reached the highest tree crown.

Generosity hardly managed to hide, every place she looked seemed to be more suitable for a friend of her than for herself. A crystal lake? Oh, that’s an ideal place for Beauty!

Hollw of a tree? That’s perfect for Shame! Flight of a butterfly? Wonderful for Voluptuosity! Gust of the wind? The perfect place for Freedom! She finally hid in a sunbeam. Selfishness, on the contrary, he found a convenient place right from the start, but only for him!

Lie hid in the ocean (the true reality lies in hiding after the rainbow!). And the Passion and Desire hid in the crater of a volcano. Ignorance…simply forgot where they hid…but that’s not so important!

When the Craze has reached number 999,999, Love hasn’t find a hiding place for being so busy…until found a rose bush and, deeply impressed, he hid among the flowers. “A million!” Madness counted and started looking.

First they found the place of Laziness, which was far only three steps away.. Following this, Belief was heard talking to God about theology and the Passion and Longing were seen to vibrate making the volcano.

In a second, she found Envy, so it was hard to deduce where Triumph has hidden.

Selfishness did not even have to be sought, as he came by himself to light, from a nest of wasps. Going so far, he was thirsty, and coming toward the lake, he discovered the beauty. With Doubt was much easier, because she sits perched on a fence, undecided where to hide. Thus he found them all, Talent – in the young grass, Fear – in a dark cave, Lying – behind the rainbow (again … It was a lie
…), even though the ocean floor and inadvertently forgot to simply play. Only Love can not be found. Folly looking every shrub, every rivulets, the mountain peaks, and, when he was almost ready to give up, he saw flowered bush roses … With a thorn she began to remove barbed twigs, when suddenly it was heard a cry sharp: thorns have pierced the Love eyes.

Madness did not know what to do in order to ask for Forgiveness, cried, asked, begged and even offered to be his help and tutorial.
Starting with that day Love is blind and madness always accompanies her.

Most terrible cold it was. It snowed and was quite dark; it was the last evening of the year. In this cold and darkness there went along the street a poor girl, bareheaded and with naked feet. When she left home, she had slippers on, it’s true; but what was the good of that? They were very large slippers and her mother had hitherto worn. So large they were and the poor little thing lost them as she scuffled away across the street because of two carriages that rolled by dreadfully fast.

One slipper was nowhere to be found; the other had been laid hold of by an urchin and off he ran with it; he thought it would do capitally for cradle when he someday or other should have children himself. So, the little maiden walked on with her tiny naked feet that were quite red and blue because of cold. She carried a quantity of matches in an old apron and she held a bundle of them in her hand.
Nobody had bought anything of her the whole livelong day; no one given her a single farthing. She crept along trembling with cold and hunger – a picture of sarrow, the poor little thing!
The flakes of snow covered her long fai hair which fell in beautiful curls around her neck; but of that, of course, she never once now thought.

From all the wndows the candles were gleaming and it smelt so deliciously of roast goose for you know it was New Year’s Eve; yes, that’s what she thought.
In a corner, formed by two houses of which one advances more than the other, she seated herself down and cowered together. Her little feet she had drawn close up to her, but she grew colder and colder. She didn’t venture to go home for she had not sold any matches and could not bring a farthing of money. From her father she would certainly get blows and at hoem it was also cold; above her she had only the roof, through which the wind whistled even though the largest cracks were stopped up with straw and rags.
Her little hands were almost numbed with cold. A match might afford her a world of comfort; if she only dares take a single one out of the budle, draw it against the wall and warm her fingers bt it. She drew one out. “Rischt!” how it blazed, how it burnt! I was a warm, bright flame like a candle as she held her hands over it: it was a wonderful light.

It seemed really to the little maiden as though she were sitting before a large ivon stove, with burnished brass feet and a beass ornament at top. The fire burned with such blessed influence; it warmed so delightfully. The little girl had already stretched out her feet to warm them too; but–the small flame went out, the stove vanished: she had only the remains of the burnt-out match in her hand.

She rubbed another against the wall: it burned brightly, and where the light fell on the wall, there the wall became transparent like a veil, so that she could see into the room. On the table was spread a snow-white tablecloth; upon it was a splendid porcelain service, and the roast goose was steaming famously with its stuffing of apple and dried plums. And what was still more capital to behold was, the goose hopped down from the dish, reeled about on the floor with knife and fork in its breast, till it came up to the poor little girl; when–the match went out and nothing but the thick, cold, damp wall was left behind. She lighted another match. Now there she was sitting under the most magnificent Christmas tree: it was still larger, and more decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door in the rich merchant’s house.

Thousands of lights were burning on the green branches, and gaily-colored pictures, such as she had seen in the shop-windows, looked down upon her. The little maiden stretched out her hands towards them when–the match went out. The lights of the Christmas tree rose higher and higher, she saw them now as stars in heaven; one fell down and formed a long trail of fire.

“Someone is just dead!” said the little girl; for her old grandmother, the only person who had loved her, and who was now no more, had told her, that when a star falls, a soul ascends to God.

She drew another match against the wall: it was again light, and in the lustre there stood the old grandmother, so bright and radiant, so mild, and with such an expression of love.

“Grandmother!” cried the little one. “Oh, take me with you! You go away when the match burns out; you vanish like the warm stove, like the delicious roast goose, and like the magnificent Christmas tree!” And she rubbed the whole bundle of matches quickly against the wall, for she wanted to be quite sure of keeping her grandmother near her. And the matches gave such a brilliant light that it was brighter than at noon-day: never formerly had the grandmother been so beautiful and so tall. She took the little maiden, on her arm, and both flew in brightness and in joy so high, so very high, and then above was neither cold, nor hunger, nor anxiety–they were with God.

In the corner, at the cold hour of dawn, sat the poor girl, with rosy cheeks and with a smiling mouth, leaning against the wall – frozen to death on the last evening of the old year. Stiff and stark sat the child there with her matches of which one bundle had been burnt. “She wanted to warm herself,” people said. No one had the slightest suspicion of what beautiful things she had seen; no one even dreamed of the splendor in which, with her grandmother she had entered on the joy of a new year.

One of the most beautiful love stories is writen by Shel Silverstein. It’s not about a romance, it’s about the love between a boy and a tree. Actually it’s about the love of an apple-tree for a boy.We can learn from this story a lot of things, that’s why you must read it. Here it is:

Once upon a time it was a tree… and the tree loved a little boy. Every day the boy would come and gather its leaves and make them into crowns playing king of the forest. He would climb up the tree’s trunk and swing from its branches and eat apples.

And the tree and the boy would play hide-and-go-seek. When the boy was tired, he would sleep at the apple-tree shade. The boy loved very much the tree and that made the tree very happy. But time passed away and the boy grew older. This time the tree was often alone. One day, when the grown up boy went to the tree, the last one said: “Come boy and climb up my trunk and swing from my branches, eat apples, play in my shade and be happy like you used to be.”

But the boy answered: “I’m too big to climb and play. I want to buy things and have fun. I want some money. Can you give me some money?”

“I’m sorry”, said the tree, “but I have no money, I have only leaves and apples. Take my aples and sell them in the town. Then you will have money and you’ll be happy.”

The boy climbed up the tree, gatered the apples and carried them away. And the tree was happy it could help. But the boy stayed away too much time and now the tree was sad.

One day, the boy came back and the tree shook of joy and said: “Come, boy, climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and be happy.”

The boy’s answer was a little cold: “I’m too busy to climb trees. I want a house to keep me warm. I want a wife with children and so I need a house. Can you give me a house?”

“I have nou house, said the tree. The forest is my house, but you may cut off my branches and build a house. Then you will be happy.” And the boy cut off the tree’s branches and carried them away to build his house. And the tree was happy.

But the boy didn’t show a long time. And when he was back, the tree could hardly speak of happiness. “Come boy, the tree whispered, come and play”.

“I’m too ol and sad to play, said the man. I want a boat that can take me far away from here. Can you give me a boat?”

“Cut down my trunk and make a boat, said the tree. Then you can sail away and be happy.” The man cut down the trunk of the tree, made a boat and sailed away. The tree wasn’t so happy now. After a long time, the man came back again.

This time the giving tree said: “I’m sorry, but I have nothing left to give you. My apples are gone.”

The old man answered: Anyway, my teeth are to weak for apples.”

“My branches are gone, you can not swing on them anymore”, said the tree.

“I am too old to swing on branches,” said the old man.

“My trunk is gone,” said the tree. “You can not climb on it.”

“I am too tired to climb,” replied the man.

“I’m sorry”, sighed the tree. I wish I could give you something, but I have nothing left. I’m just an old stump.”

“I don’t need very much now”, said the old man, just a quiet place to sit and rest. I’m very tired.” Well”, said the tree, straightening herself up as much as it could, “Well, an old stump is good fo sitting and resting. Come, boy and sit down. Sit down and rest.” And the old man did. And the tree was happy again.

A boy was watching his grandmother writing a letter. At one point he asked:

“Are you writing a story about what we have done? Is it a story about me?”

His grandmother stopped writing the letter and answered to her grandson:

“I’m writing about you, actually, but more important than words is the pencil I am using. I hope you’ll be like this pencil when you grow up.”

The boy looked at pencil intrigues. The pencil didn’t seem very special.

“But it’s just like every other pencil I have ever seen!”

“That depends on how you look at things. The pencil has five qualities which, if you manage to hang on them, will make you a peaceful person in this world.”

“First quality: you’re capable of great things, but you must never forget that there is a hand guiding your steps in this world. We call this hand God. He always guides us according to His will. Second quality is now and then. I have to stop writing and use a sharpner.

That makes the pencil suffer a little bit, but afterwards he’s much sharper. You also must learn to bear certain pains and sorrows because they transform you in a better person.

Third quality: the pencil always allows us to use an eraser to rub out any mistakes. This means that correcting something we did is not a bad thing necessarily; but this helps us to keep the road to justice. Fourth quality: what really matters in a pencil is not its wooden exterior, but the graphie inside. So always pay atttention to what is happening inside yourself.

And the last quality of the pencil is that always leaves a marl just in the same way. What you can learn from that is that everything you do in life will leave a mark, so try to be conscious of that in your every action.”