Explore Quotes on Garden

And Spring arose on the garden fair,_x000D__x000D_Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere;_x000D__x000D_And each flower and herb on Earth's dark breast_x000D__x000D_rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.

All play aspires to the condition of paradise...through play in all its forms...we hope to achieve a state that our larger Greco-Roman, Judeo- Christian culture has always known was lost. Where it exists, we do not know, although we always have envisioned it as a garden...always as removed, as an enclosed green place...Paradise is an ancient dream...It is a dream of ourselves as better than we are, back to what we were.

Everyone knows that weeds eat out the life of the garden and of the productive fields. It's like that in the building and developing of character. No one knows our own faults and tendencies better than we do ourselves, so that it is up to each one of us to keep the weeds out, and to keep all growth vigorous and fruitful.

I seldom read on beaches or in gardens. You can't read by two lights at once, the light of day and the light of the book. You should read by electric light, the room in shadow, and only the page lit up.

To know someone here or there with whom you can feel there is understanding in spite of distances or thoughts expressed That can make life a garden.

Your thoughts are like the seeds you plant in your garden. Your beliefs are like the soil in which you plant these seeds.

We need a renaissance of wonder. We need to renew, in our hearts and in our souls, the deathless dream, the eternal poetry, the perennial sense that life is miracle and magic.

Gardening imparts an organic perspective on the passage of time.

There ought to be gardens for all months in the year, in which, severally, things of beauty may be then in season.

For man, autumn is a time of harvest, of gathering together. For nature, it is a time of sowing, of scattering abroad.

Isn't it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too?

All art is but imitation of nature.

The poetry is the Earth, charming; The river, flowing from lofty mountains; Nature, a young woman and a heavenly plant with blossoming flowers, slinking in the garden of the mind.

I have a rock garden. Last week three of them died.

Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things.

The longer you garden the better the eye gets, the more tuned to how colors vibrate in different ways and what they can do to each other. You become a scientist as well as an artist, with the lines between increasingly blurred.

Of course the Dharma-body of the Buddha was the hedge at the bottom of the garden. At the same time, and no less obviously, it was these flowers, it was anything that I - or rather the blessed Not-I - cared to look at.

Gertrude Jekyll, like Monet, was a painter with poor eyesight, and their gardens - his at Giverny in the Seine valley, hers in Surrey - had resemblance's that may have sprung from this condition. Both loved plants that foamed and frothed over walls and pergolas, spread in tides beneath trees; both saw flowers in islands of colored light - an image the normal eye captures only by squinting.

To see things in black and white is to see the basics, and I would recommend to any designer of gardens that he go out and look at his work by the light of the moon.

We are a landscape of all we have seen.

What a man needs in gardening is a cast-iron back, with a hinge in it.