What we sow in youth we reap in age; the seed of the thistle always produces the thistle.
Roads are wet where'er one wendeth, And with rain the thistle bendeth, And the brook cries like a child! Not a rainbow shines to cheer us; Ah! the sun comes never near us, And the heavens look dark and wile.
I want it said of me by those who knew me best, that I always plucked a thistle and planted a flower where I thought a flower would grow.
Two things cannot be in one place. Where you tend a rose, my lad, a thistle cannot grow.