If we are blinded by the words of others, we cannot grant our vision to the beauty's of complements and sentiment.
If all good people die young, because all of the good flowers picked before those who are rotten and decayed. Then why do we corrupt ourselves and others so that none will be plucked from their roots and cherished? There are some, maybe, that look at flowers with bending leaves and flaking petals, with searching eyes, not evading. These are the rarer of the flowers, who share scent and beauty with others, giving them the chance to be taken with them.