Just as a prism of glass miters light and casts a colored braid, a garden sings sweet incantations the human heart strains to hear. Hiding in every flower, in every leaf, in every twig and bough, are reflections of the God who once walked with us in Eden.
The love of dirt is among the earliest of passions, as it is the latest. Mud pies gratify one of our first and best instincts. So long as we are dirty, we are pure. Fondness for the ground comes back to a man after he has run the round of pleasure and bu
Poetry is the art of creating imaginary gardens with real toads.
Happiness grows at our own firesides, and is not to be picked in stranger's gardens.
Synods are mystical bear gardens, Where elders, deputies, church wardens, And other members of the court, Manage the Babylonish sport.
Gardens are not made by sitting in the shade.
Our bodies are our gardens to which our wills are gardeners.
Gardens and flowers have a way of bringing people together, drawing them from their homes.
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In my garden there is a large place for sentiment. My garden of flowers is also my garden of thoughts and dreams. The thoughts grow as freely as the flowers, and the dreams are as beautiful.
Gardens are a form of autobiography.
A Garden is a Friend You Can Visit Anytime
A heathy garden is a reflection of a healthy soul.
Gardens are not made by singing Oh, how beautiful, and sitting in the shade.
There can be no other occupation like gardening in which, if you were to creep up behind someone at their work, you would find them smiling.