Quotes
Quotes about Garden
A book is a garden carried in the pocket.
Won't you come into the garden? I would like my roses to see you.
A single rose can be my garden... a single friend, my world.
The Father and His Two Daughters A man had two daughters, the one married to a gardener, and the other to a tile-maker. After a time he went to the daughter who had married the gardener, and inquired how she was and how all things went with her. She said, All things are prospering with me, and I have only one wish, that there may be a heavy fall of rain, in order that the plants may be well watered. Not long after, he went to the daughter who had married the tilemaker, and likewise inquired of her how she fared; she replied, I want for nothing, and have only one wish, that the dry weather may continue, and the sun shine hot and bright, so that the bricks might be dried. He said to her, If your sister wishes for rain, and you for dry weather, with which of the two am I to join my wishes?'.
The gardener's rule applies to youth and age: When young "sow wild oats," but when old, grow sage. -H. J. Byron.
Adam, well may we labour, still to dress This garden, still to tend plant, herb, and flower.
The April winds are magical, And thrill our tuneful frames; The garden-walks are passional To bachelors and dames.
The honey-bee that wanders all day long The field, the woodland, and the garden o'er, To gather in his fragrant winter store, Humming in calm content his winter song, Seeks not alone the rose's glowing breast, The lily's dainty cup, the violet's lips, But from all rank and noxious weeds he sips The single drop of sweetness closely pressed Within the poison chalice.
Those golden birds that, in the spice-time, drop About the gardens, drunk with that sweet food Whose scent hath lur'd them o'er the summer flood; And those that under Araby's soft sun Build their high nests of budding cinnamon.
Feast of Leo the Great, Bishop of Rome, 461 Lord, forgiveâ That I have dwelt too long on Golgotha, My wracked eyes fixed On Thy poor, tortured human form upon the cross, And have not seen The lilies in Thy dawn-sweet garden bend To anoint Thy risen feet; nor known the ways Thy radiant spirit walks abroad with men.
Maundy Thursday We usually think of Jesus in the upper room as calmly and patiently preparing his disciples for their coming crisis; only in the garden are we shown his deep anguish over what lies ahead for himself. But if this verse ("'They hated me without a cause." Ps. 69:4) occurred to Jesus as describing his enemies, surely he was also identifying with the rest of [Psalm 69] with its vivid description of overwhelming troubles and importune cries to God for deliverance. What in the upper room was still under the surface was openly expressed in the garden.
Every man reaps what he sows, except the amateur gardener.
A cow is a very good animal in the field; but we turn her out of a garden.
Daughter of Time, the hypocrite Days, Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes, And marching single in an endless file, Bring diadems and fagots in their hands; To each they offer gifts after his will, Bread, kingdom, stars, and sky that holds them all; I, in my pleached garden watched the pomp Forgot my morning wishes, hastily Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day Turned and departed silent. I too late Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn.
Question your grace the late ambassadors, With what great state he heard their embassy, How well supplied with noble counsellors, How modest in exception, and withal How terrible in constant resolution, And you shall find his vanities forespent Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus, Covering discretion with a coat of folly; As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots That shall first spring and be most delicate.
I think of the garden after the rain; And hope to my heart comes singing, "At morn the cherry-blooms will be white, And the Easter bells be ringing!"
There is a garden in her face, Where roses and white lilies blow; A heavenly paradise is that place, Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow. There cherries grow that none may buy, Till cherry ripe themselves do cry.
As for marigolds, poppies, hollyhocks, and valorous sunflowers, we shall never have a garden without them, both for their own sake, and for the sake of old-fashioned folks, who used to love them.
Ah, ah, Cytherea! Adonis is dead. She wept tear after tear, with the blood which was shed,-- And both turned into flowers for the earth's garden-close; Her tears, to the wind-flower,--his blood, to the rose.
Ye field flowers! the gardens eclipse you 'tis true: Yet wildings of nature, I dote upon you, For ye waft me to summers of old, When the earth teem'd around me with fairy delight, And when daisies and buttercups gladden'd my sight, Like treasures of silver and gold.
One of the healthiest ways to gamble is with a spade and a package of garden seeds.
A single rose can be my garden . . . a single friend, my world.
I value my garden more for being full of blackbirds than of cherries, and very frankly give them fruit for their songs.
If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need.
Gardening is not a rational act.
