Garden Quotes - Page 40

• Then there are those who plant. they endure storms and all the many vicissitudes of the seasons, and they rarely rest. But, unlike a building, a garden never stops growing. And while it requires the gardener's constant attention, it also allows life for the gardener to be a great adventure.

  Paulo Coelho

  Adventure, Storm, Attention

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• God! I hated this business of being grown-up. I hated having to make decisions where I didn't know what was behind the door. I wanted a world where heroes and villains were clearly labeled. Where ominous music comes on-screen so you can't possibly mistake him. Where someone asks you to choose between playing with the beautiful princess in the fragrant garden and being eaten by the hideous monster in the foul-smelling pit. Not exactly a difficult one, now is it? Not something that you would agonize over, or that would make you lose a night's sleep?

  Marian Keyes

  Beautiful, Mistake, Hero

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• But happiness ... happiness grows at our own firesides," she said. "It is not to be picked in strangers' gardens." ~ The House at Riverton

  Kate Morton

  House, Stranger, Said

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• My life had taken a stranger turn than I could've ever imagined. What was I doing on this path? Where was I headed really? Who was I to take on a battle between powers I didn't understand— armed with a runaway cat, a uniquely bad drummer, a pair of garden shears, and an Ovaltine-drinking teen Galileo? To save a girl who didn't want to be saved?

  Kami Garcia

  Girl, Taken, Drinking

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• Granana doesn't understand what the big deal is. She didn't cry at Olivia's funeral, and I doubt she even remembers Olivia's name. Granana lost, like, ninety-two million kids in childbirth. All of her brothers died in the war. She survived the Depression by stealing radish bulbs from her neighbors' garden, and fishing the elms for pigeons. Dad likes to remind us of this in a grave voice, as if it explained her jaundiced pitilessness: "Boys. Your grandmother ate pigeons."

  Karen Russell

  Brother, Dad, War

  "Haunting Olivia" by Karen Russell, www.newyorker.com. June 13, 2005.

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• God made a beauteous garden With lovely flowers strown, But one straight, narrow pathway That was not overgrown. And to this beauteous garden He brought mankind to live, And said "To you, my children, These lovely flowers I give. Prune ye my vines and fig trees, With care my flowers tend, But keep the pathway open Your home is at the end." God's Garden

  Robert Frost

  Children, Flower, Home

  Robert Frost (1992). “Selected Poems”, Gramercy

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• Her father had taught her about hands. About a dog's paws. Whenever her father was alone with a dog in a house he would lean over and smell the skin at the base of its paw. This, he would say, as if coming away from a brandy snifter, is the greatest smell in the world! A bouquet! Great rumours of travel! She would pretend disgust, but the dog's paw was a wonder: the smell of it never suggested dirt. It's a cathedral! her father had said, so-and-so's garden, that field of grasses, a walk through cyclamen--a concentration of hints of all the paths the animal had taken during the day.

  Michael Ondaatje

  Dog, Father, Taken

  Michael Ondaatje (2011). “The English Patient”, p.8, Vintage

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• Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners: so that if we will plant nettles, or sow lettuce, set hyssop and weed up tine, supply it with one gender of herbs, or distract it with many, either to have it sterile with idleness, or manured with industry, why, the power and corrigible authority of this lies in our wills.

  William Shakespeare

  Weed, Lying, Body

  William Shakespeare, Gayle Holste (2002). “Othello”, p.68, Barron's Educational Series

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• My heart rushes into the garden, joyfully tasting all the delights. But reason frowns, disapproving of the heart's bad manners.

  Rumi

  Heart, Delight, Reason

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• Life is like a garden, you reap what you sow

  Paulo Coelho

  Life Is Like, Life Is, Reap

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• It's surprisingly nice out here, peaceful and pretty-strange to be standing in the middle of a little garden while enclosed by the massive stone walls of the prison, like being at the exact center of a hurricane, and finding peace and silence in the middle of so much shrieking damage.

  Lauren Oliver

  Wall, Nice, Silence

  Lauren Oliver (2015). “Delirium Trilogy: Delirium, Pandemonium, Requiem”, p.242, Hachette UK

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• How could you not know?" His voice was full of wonderment. "You changed me utterly. You were like a...like a bright, wonderful bloom in a garden full of weeds. Like a graceful capital on a page of plain script, a letter decorated with the deepest, finest colors in all Erin. Like a flame, Caitrin. Like a song.

  Juliet Marillier

  Weed, Song, Flames

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• ...The simple little words came easily, fitting themselves to the tune that had come out of the harpsichord. It didn't seem to her that she made them up at all. It seemed to her that they flew in from the rose-garden, through the open window, like a lot of butterflies, poised themselves on the point of her pen, and fell off it on to the paper.

  Elizabeth Goudge

  Butterfly, Simple, Rose

  Elizabeth Goudge (2001). “The Little White Horse”, p.57, Penguin

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• You are the drop,and the ocean you are kindness,you are anger, you are sweetness,you are poison. Do not make me more disheartened. you are the chamber of the sun, you are the abode of venus, you are the garden of all hope. Oh, Beloved, let me enter.

  Rumi

  Kindness, Ocean, Poison

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• Within days they'd formed an unholy alliance with a foppish young French vampire in the Garden District who had implausibly golden hair and a streak of ruthlessness as wide as the Mississippi

  Deborah Harkness

  Hair, Vampire, Alliances

  Deborah Harkness (2014). “All Souls Trilogy”, p.180, Penguin

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• The rose-garden world of perfection is a lie and a bore too!

  Joanne Greenberg

  Lying, Perfection, Rose

  Joanne Greenberg (2009). “I Never Promised You a Rose Garden: A Novel”, p.108, Macmillan

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• There is a tale...It tells of the days when a blight hung over our land. Nothing prospered. Nothing flourished. Not even zucchini would grow.

  Cameron Dokey

  Zucchini, Land, Blight

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• Catelyn had never liked this godswood. She had been born a Tully, at Riverrun far to the south, on the Red Fork of the Trident. The godswood there was a garden, bright and airy, where tall redwoods spread dappled shadows across tinkling streams, birds sang from hidden nests, and the air was spicy with the scent of flowers.

  George R. R. Martin

  Flower, Air, Bird

  George R. R. Martin (2012). “George R. R. Martin's A Game of Thrones 5-Book Boxed Set (Song of Ice and Fire Series): A Game of Thrones, A Clash of Kings, A Storm of Swords, A Feast for Crows, and and A Dance with Dragons”, p.32, Bantam

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• True humility is a flower which will adorn any garden.

  Charles Spurgeon

  Flower, Humility, True Humility

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• He who has a garden and a library wants for nothing.

  Marcus Tullius Cicero

  Reading, Library, Want

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• Love is a handful of seeds, marriage the garden, and like your gardens, Paula, marriage requires total commitment, hard work, and a great deal of love and care. Be ruthless with the weeds. Pull them out before they take hold. Bring the same dedication to your marriage that you do to your gardens and everything will be all right. Remember that a marriage has to be constantly replenished too, if you want it to flourish.

  Barbara Taylor Bradford

  Love, Weed, Hard Work

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• Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid’s pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds.

  J. K. Rowling

  Flower, Lakes, Rose

  J. K. Rowling (1999). “Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets”, Raincoast Books

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• We're going to die," Keith said, the moment he was gone. "This man is a serial killer. We're going to die, and he's going to bury us in his garden and build a shed on us.

  Maureen Johnson

  Men, Serial Killer, Gone

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• I went to the Garden of Love, And saw what I never had seen: A Chapel was built in the midst, Where I used to play on the green. And the gates of this Chapel were shut, And 'Thou shalt not' writ over the door; So I turn'd to the Garden of Love, That so many sweet flowers bore. And I saw it was filled with graves, And tomb-stones where flowers should be: And Priests in black gowns, were walking their rounds, And binding with briars, my joys & desires.

  William Blake

  Sweet, Flower, Play

  William Blake (2008). “The Complete Poetry and Prose of William Blake”, p.26, Univ of California Press

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• We got quiet. The garden was combing her hair and putting on earrings. The house was full of dancing creatures, not male and female but both, two lovers in one body. The books downstairs were reciting their poetry to each other, rubbing together, whispering through the leather covers. Wine was flowing through the water pipes. You had caught my leaping heart in your hand like a fish.

  Francesca Lia Block

  Book, Heart, Wine

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