Mimosa in art

‘And I was struck not so much by her beauty as by an extraordinary loneliness in her eyes, such as no one had ever seen before! Obeying this yellow sign, I also turned down the lane and followed her. We walked along the crooked, boring lane silently, I on one side, she on the other. And, imagine, there was not a soul in the lane. I was suffering, because it seemed to me that it was necessary to speak to her, and I worried that I wouldn’t utter a single word, and she would leave, and I’d never see her again. And, imagine, suddenly she began to speak:
‘ “Do you like my flowers?” (Mikhail Bulgakov. The Master and Margarita)

‘And I was struck not so much by her beauty as by an extraordinary loneliness in her eyes, such as no one had ever seen before! Obeying this yellow sign, I also turned down the lane and followed her. We walked along the crooked, boring lane silently, I on one side, she on the other. And, imagine, there was not a soul in the lane. I was suffering, because it seemed to me that it was necessary to speak to her, and I worried that I wouldn’t utter a single word, and she would leave, and I’d never see her again. And, imagine, suddenly she began to speak:
‘ “Do you like my flowers?”
‘I remember clearly the sound of her voice, rather low, slightly husky, and, stupid as it is, it seemed that the echo resounded in the lane and bounced off the dirty yellow wall. I quickly crossed to her side and, coming up to her, answered:
‘”No!”

‘She looked at me in surprise, and I suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, understood that all my life I had loved precisely this woman! Quite a thing,
eh? Of course, you’ll say I’m mad?’
‘I won’t say anything,’ Ivan exclaimed, and added: ‘I beg you, go on!’
And the guest continued.
‘Yes, she looked at me in surprise, and then, having looked, asked thus:
‘”You generally don’t like flowers?”
‘It seemed to me there was hostility in her voice. I was walking beside her, trying to keep in step, and, to my surprise, did not feel the least constraint.
‘ “No, I like flowers, but not this kind,” I said.
‘”Which, then?”
‘”I like roses.”

Mikhail Bulgakov. The Master and Margarita

Mimosa in art