Quotes About Garden

I was raised in the Pacific Islands, so I remember picking fruit every morning for breakfast or collecting the eggs from the chickens in the garden. It was a very simple life, but we had all of these fresh ingredients on our doorstep.

I hope I will have a family. A house, with a garden, will be nice. And I would love a barbecue! Just very simple things and a passion to work hard.

each soul possessed a garden with a serpent that whispered temptations.

The path has a cottage garden on both sides; clumps of old-fashioned flowers ran all over each other: lamb's ear, mint, & rhubarb, roses, forget-me-nots, bleeding hearts & wisteria. I walked very slowly, savoring. At the end of the slate path was the house, very recognizable now... As nearly perfect a little place as I ever lived in is how Beatrix described it.

Together, Vita (Sackville-West) & Harold (Sir Harold Nicholson) had a passion bigger than them-selves, bigger than their marriage, bigger than everything~their garden. No matter what they did during their lives, the legacy they left for generations to come is pure magic.

Of pumpkins and parsnips and walnut tree chips.

The moon garden of the mansion was famous, having been designed with night-blooming flowers lining the pathways and hillocks of the landscape. They stepped through open doors, went down the wide stone steps, and were greeted by the heady perfume of late-blooming autumn flowers. The pale blossoms were lit from below, setting a mood of mystery. A fountain of natural stone rose up out of a pond surrounded by terra-cotta sculptures.

The garden flourished that summer because Magnus's mother was determined to feed her family despite the depredations of the distant war. In the fall, there were beans and tomatoes and pickles to can, and jar after jar of applesauce. Mama's hives yielded fresh honey, and then willow skeps were winterized. The bees would not come out until the air warmed and the sun appeared.

Seeing him amid the yellow leaves and berry-colored hips of the spent roses, and the fading hollyhocks gone to seed along the garden wall, filled her heart.

suppose the sisters are my garden," she said. "They are the growing things I am meant to cultivate and serve." A twinkle came and went and her voice grew determined. "I will simply have to be firm about my own priorities, that's all.

walking away, Nelly also got to her feet and quickly took up her place beside Emma. Content and comfortable in each other's company, Emma and Nelly meandered through the garden, a lovely place of stately old trees and spreading shrubs already heavy with buds. At the farthest end, away from the house, there was a small

There is a delicate-looking plant native to North America called bleeding heart.

But Rose lifted her champagne flute in a toast. "It is precisely our unfortunate characteristics that make any of us interesting—wouldn't you say, ladies? Those of us, I might add, who are interesting." Maneuvering Kate away from the gaggle, Rose led her through the gardens and down to the river.

A cat improves the garden wall in sunshine, and the hearth in foul weather.

Daphne felt something wild and wicked take hold. "Let's walk in the garden," she said softly. "We can't." "We must." "We can't.

Interesting, he later reflected, was perhaps not the correct word. By the time he and Henry arrived back at the house for their midday meal—a scrumptious bowl of hot, sticky porridge—he had mucked out the stable stalls, milked a cow, been pecked by three separate hens, weeded a vegetable garden, and fallen into a trough.

Right here, right now, in this moment, in this garden, you're perfect.

No, I`m putting it away, trying to buy a house for my family. The goal is to use the money to move into a big house, so my daughter can have a garden.

The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind.The paired butterflies are already yellow with AugustOver the grass in the West garden;They hurt me. I grow older.

The Garden En robe de parade. - Samain Like a skein of loose silk blown against a wall She walks by the railing of a path in Kensington Gardens, And she is dying piece-meal of a sort of emotional anaemia. And round about there is a rabble Of the filthy, sturdy, unkillable infants of the very poor. They shall inherit the earth. In her is the end of breeding. Her boredom is exquisite and excessive. She would like some one to speak to her, And is almost afraid that I will commit that indiscretion.

I think that if ever a mortal heard the voice of God it would be in a garden at the cool of the day.

Life already has so many boundaries and pressures - why add more in the garden?

I am writing in the garden. To write as one should of a garden one must not write outside it or merely somewhere near it, but in the garden.

Sometimes since I've been in the garden I've looked up through the trees at the sky and I have had a strange feeling of being happy as if something was pushing and drawing in my chest and making me breathe fast. Magic is always pushing and drawing and making things out of nothing. Everything is made out of magic, leaves and trees, flowers and birds, badgers and foxes and squirrels and people. So it must be all around us. In this garden - in all the places.