In the trembling grey of a spring dawn, when the birds were whispering in mysterious cadence among the trees, have you not felt that they were talking to their mates about the flowers? Surely with humankind the appreciation of flowers must have ben coeval with the poetry of love. Where better than in a flower, sweet in its unconsciousness, fragrant because of its silence, can we image the unfolding of a virgin soul. The primeval man in offering the first garland to his maiden thereby transcended the brute. He became human in thus rising about the crude necessities of nature. He entered the Realm of art when he perceived the subtle use of the useless.
In joy or sadness, flowers are our constant friends We eat, drink, sing, dance, and flirt with them. We wed and christen with flowers. We dare not die without them.
The Book of Tea, Kakuzo Okakura