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Garden Quotes

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Garden Quotes

“Is there any sign of spring quite so welcome as the glint of the first bluebird unless it is his softly whistled song? No wonder the bird has become the symbol for happiness. Before the farmer begins to plough the wet earth, often while snow is still on the ground, this hardy little minstrel is making himself very much at home in our orchards and gardens while waiting for a mate to arrive from the South.”

FirstsLittlesStillsHomeEarthSongWaitingWonderSpringBirdGardenSouthSnowWelcomeSymbolsFarmersMatesWetHardyOrchardBluebirdMinstrels
Author:Neltje Blanchan
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“These sprays, dusts, and aerosols are now applied almost universally to farms, gardens, forests, and homes-nonselective chemicals that have the power to kill every insect, the 'good' and the 'bad,' to still the song of birds and the leaping of fish in the streams, to coat the leaves with a deadly film, and to linger on in soil-all this though the intended target may be only a few weeds or insects. Can anyone believe it is possible to lay down such a barrage of poisons on the surface of the earth without making it unfit for all life? They should not be called 'insecticides,' but 'biocides.'”

ShouldBelieveMayStillsHomeEarthFilmSongBirdGardenLaysFishesSurfaceForestsDustStreamsPoisonSoilTargetWeedFarmsChemicalsCoatsInsectsSpraySilent SpringInsecticides
Book:The house of life: Rachel Carson at work
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“Water. Its sunny track in the plain; its splashing in the garden canal, the sound it makes when in its course it meets the mane ofthe grass; the diluted reflection of the sky together with the fleeting sight of the reeds; the Negresses fill their dripping gourds and their red clay containers; the song of the washerwomen; the gorged fields the tall crops ripening.”

TogetherSongCoursesSoundWaterNatureSkyFieldsReflectionRedGardenRiversSightTrackGrassTallFleetingClayCropsSunnyReedsCanalsDrippingContainersRipeningSplashingGourds
Author:Jacques Roumain
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“The creative process is just a process and you can't really separate it from life. Growing your hair is a creative process. Your body is creating hair. Being alive is a creative process. Whether it's growing something in the garden or growing a song, the material accumulates. It's the process of being alive; it's the passage of time. Things change.”

BodySongProcessCreativeAliveGrowingMaterialsHairCreatingGardenYour BodyPassagesCreative ProcessThings ChangePassage Of Time
Author:Antony Hegarty
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“Our homes do not have to offer us permanent occupancy or store our clothes to merit the name. To speak of home in relation to a building is simply to recognise its harmony with our own prized internal song. Home can be an airport or a library, a garden or a motorway diner.”

HomeSongNamesSpeakBuildingOffersClothesGardenRelationHarmonyLibraryStoresPermanentMeritInternalsAirportsRecogniseDiners
Book:The Architecture of Happiness
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“If you listen, you can hear it. The city, it sings. If you stand quietly, at the foot of a garden, in the middle of the street, on the roof of a house. It's clearest at night, when the sound cuts more sharply across the surface of things, when the song reaches out to a place inside you. It's a wordless song, for the most, but it's a song all the same, and nobody hearing it could doubt what it sings. And the song sings the loudest when you pick out each note.”

IfsNightSongHouseSoundCitiesDoubtCuttingFeetStreetsMiddlePicksGardenNotesHearingSurfaceReach OutRoof
Book:If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things
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“When the rose is gone and the garden faded you will no longer hear the nightingale's song. The Beloved is all; the lover just a veil. The Beloved is living; the lover a dead thing. If love withholds its strengthening care, the lover is left like a bird without care, the lover is left like a bird without wings. How will I be awake and aware if the light of the Beloved is absent? Love wills that this Word be brought forth.”

IfsLightCareSongLeftGoneLoversBirdGardenWingsRoseBelovedAwakeVeilsAbsentFadedStrengtheningNightingales
Book:The Pocket Rumi
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“She had died peacefully, in her sleep, after an evening of listening to all of her favorite Fred Astaire songs, one crackling record after another. Once the last chord of the last piece had died out, she had stood up and opened the French doors to the garden outside, perhaps waiting to breathe in the honeysuckle one more time.”

LastsSongWaitingSleepRecordsPiecesDoorsListeningGardenDiedBreatheEveningMore TimeChordsStood Up
Book:Juliet: A Novel
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“In the other gardens And all up the vale, From the autumn bonfies See the smoke trail! Pleasant summer over And all the summer flowers, The red fire blazes, the grey smoke towers. Sing a song of seasons! Something bright in all, Flowers in the summer Fires in the fall!”

SongFallFireFlowerSummerRedGardenSeasonsSmokePleasantAutumnTowersGreyTrailsAutumn SeasonSummer Flower
Book:The Complete Works of Robert Louis Stevenson: Novels, Short Stories, Poems, Plays, Memoirs, Travel Sketches, Letters and Essays (Illustrated Edition): The Entire Opus of Scottish novelist, poet, essayist and travel writer, containing Treasure Island, Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, Kidnapped, Catriona and A Child's Garden of Verses
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“The job has its grandeurs, yes. There is the exultation of arriving safely after a storm, the joy of gliding down out of the darkness of night or tempest toward a sun-drenched Alicante or Santiago; there is the swelling sense of returning to repossess one's place in life, in the miraculous garden of earth, where are trees and women and, down by the harbor, friendly little bars. When he has throttled his engine and is banking into the airport, leaving the somber cloud masses behind, what pilot does not break into song?”

LittlesDoeEarthJobsJoyNightSongBehindsBreakDarknessSunTreeMassGardenLeavingCloudsStormBarsFlightAviationFriendlyEnginesPilotsBankingAirportsMiraculousHarborsGrandeurArrivingTempestSwellingSomberGlidingPlace In LifeDarkness Of NightSantiago
Author:Antoine de Saint-Exupery
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