Quotes About Garden

and adam rose fearful in the garden without words for the grass his fingers plucked without a tongue to name the taste shimmering in his mouth did they draw blood the blades did it become his early lunge toward language did his astonishment surround him did he shudder did he whisper eve

Wisteria and red-buds had followed, and then in mid-March the azaleas burst forth in gigantic pillows of white, red, and vermilion. White dogwood blossoms floated like clouds of confectioner's sugar above the azaleas. The scent of honeysuckle

God hath strewed all the way from the gate of hell where thou wast, coming sinner, to the gate of heaven whither thou art going, with flowers out of his own garden. Behold how the promises, invitations, calls, and encouragements, like lilies, lie about thee. Take heed thou dost not tread them under foot.

The kiss of sun for pardon, The song of the birds for mirth, One is nearer God's Heart in a garden Than anywhere else on earth

And hasten to forgiveness from your Lord; and a Garden, the extensiveness of which is (as) the heavens and the earth, it is prepared for those who guard (against evil).

A statue in a garden is to be considered as one part of a scene or landscape.

A garden without its statue is like a sentence without its verb.

One of the most delightful things about a garden is the anticipation it provides.

Who loves a garden still his Eden keeps.

A garden should be natural-seeming, with wild sections, including a large area of bluebells.

On Wednesday, for variety, he accosted Andrew as Andrew went out to check the state of the garden walls and presented a further cardboard box containing ten kilos of tomatoes and a squash like a deformed head of a baby.

It was not the sun, but the moonlight that shimmered in the garden, edging the leaves with silver and touching the outlines of the statuary figures.

The cat was on the window ledge, gazing intently into the garden.

We turned into the rose garden where the pruned bushes appeared as piles of dead twigs, but the elaborate borders of box that surrounded them in sinuous Elizabethan patterns twisted in and out of the moonlight, showing here silver, there black. A dozen times I would have lingered—a single ivy leaf turned at an angle to catch the moonlight perfectly; a sudden view of the great oak tree, etched with inhuman clarity against the pale sky—but I could not stop.

garden hoes, there was a small but conspicuous headline.

The heart is like a garden. It can grow compassion or fear, resentment or love. What seeds will you plant there?

Harvest Time When Daddy's garden is ready it is filled with words that make me laugh when I say them -- pole beans and tomatoes, okra and corn sweet peas and sugar snaps, lettuce and squash. Who could have imagined so much color that the ground disappears and we are left walking through an autumn's worth of crazy words that beneath the magic of my grandmother's hands become side dishes.

But something that never escapes me as I putter about the garden, physically and mentally: desire and curiosity inform the inevitable boundaries of the garden, and boundaries, especially when they are an outgrowth of something as profound as the garden with all its holy restrictions and admonitions, must be violated.

A perfect garden, no matter its size, should enclose nothing less than the entire Universe.

In the creation of a garden, the architect invites the partnership of the Kingdom of Nature. In a beautiful garden the majesty of nature is ever present, but it is nature reduced to human proportions and thus transformed into the most efficient haven against the aggressiveness of contemporary life.

The garden was Adam's house, but Eve was his home and his companion in achieving his true purpose. Earth's first love story is not only its most famous but also its most tender and inspiring. It is a story about the use of agency, love, companionship, and the making of a home.

He stopped and looked at her. "Your eyes are leaking." "It's the flowers. They make me sneeze." "Then let us be away from the garden. Open the door, love, if you will." She obeyed, then froze halfway over the threshold. "What did you call me?" "The first of countless endearments if you'll but stir yourself to hold our current course.

The piercing angst of disappointment in everything on this side of eternity creates a discontent with this world and pushes us to long for God Himself—and for the place where we will finally walk in the garden with Him again.

Life is what you remember, Nan thinks as she shoves dirt into the old sneaker. Who can remember everything? Well, no one, and that's a blessing. Life is and always has been a composition, much like this garden; it will not be contained and cannot be determined.