Garden Quotes

“If you'd like to gain a new understanding of growth, get into gardening.”
― Hendrith Vanlon Smith Jr, CEO of Mayflower-Plymouth

“It's all prickles and spines and anger, covered in pretty, useless blossoms and fruit too bitter to eat. There is nothing in it worth loving."
"How wrong you are."
Zoya's gaze snapped to his, her eyes flashing silver- dragon's eyes. "Am I?"
"Look at the way it grows, protecting everything within these walls, stronger than anything else in the garden, weathering every season. No matter the winter it endures, it blooms again and again."
"What if the winter is just too long and hard? What if it can't bloom again?"
He was afraid to reach for her, but he did it anyway. He took her gloved hand in his. She didn't pull away but folded in to him like a flower closing its petals at nightfall. He wrapped his arm around her. Zoya seemed to hesitate, and then with a soft breath, she let herself lean against him. Zoya the deadly. Zoya the ferocious. The weight of her against him like a benediction. He had been strong for his country, his soldiers, his friends. It meant something different to be strong for her.
"Then you'll be branches without blossom," he whispered against her hair. "And you'll let the rest of us be strong until the summer comes."
"It wasn't a metaphor."
"Of course it wasn't.”
― Leigh Bardugo, Rule of Wolves

“Still, the flowers were growing right along with them, miniature roses and hydrangea, lavender and peonies, magenta and red and pink and purple flowers. And not just in the garden, but all around, the orchard was bursting with green, and smells, and birds singing until long after dark.”
― Jodi Lynn Anderson, The Secrets of Peaches

“There is a trailer that I pass on the drive to my parents’ house in Robards,
and obstructing the dance of the overgrown weeds
is a Trump sign.
Last summer, another sign went up next to it.
The sign, handily made of cardboard and black marker, said,
“EXTRA FRUITS AND VEGGIES FROM GARDEN,
STOP BY AND GET YOU SOME.”
― Belle Townsend

“As Yarrow slept and the moon rose high in the sky, a breeze rustled through stalks of onyx-hued basil and deep gray sage, tall as sunflowers. Starlight fell in slants across petals of black violets. A night-dark strawberry rolled across the ground. A plum-colored tomato fell from its stem. Borage and pansies and nasturtium in varying shades of black and gray turned the darkness into its own kind of rainbow.
Beneath the soil lurked something even darker. Generations of pain saturated the earth, fed each stem and fruit and flower. In the soft, thick leaves of sage: loss. In the blackened basil: broken hearts. Tucked inside the husks of charcoal corn: anger and betrayal. Trapped within the bell of burgundy calla lilies: stolen innocence.”
― Liz Parker, In the Shadow Garden

“I am content, relaxed, creating, and focused on watering my own garden.”
― Robin S. Baker

“A trellis filled with roses arched above the patio, leading to a winding garden path made out of stones that Lucy wanted to skip along. Flowers in reds and pinks and whites and purples bloomed from the curved edges of the yard, so beautiful they reminded Lucy of something out of Eliza's paintings.”
― Ashley Clark, Paint and Nectar

“Some people consider moss a nuisance, but I find it to be utterly beautiful in its simplicity. Moss symbolizes a charitable nature and a mother's love, and every time I see it, it makes me remember my mama. She's the one who taught me---and Bee---all about the language of flowers.”
― Heather Webber, In the Middle of Hickory Lane

“Ideas are like flowers that bloom in our mind’s garden!”
― Avijeet Das

“It was delicious in the garden. The storm had passed over long since, and it was still and warm; the sweetness of the stocks and roses filled the air with the peculiar intensity of fragrance of flowers after rain - in the evening light they had the unnatural shadowy vividness of a coloured photograph. The rain had stirred up the nightingales too - near and far, their bubbling ecstasy welled out from the dark shelter of ilexes and cypresses, and through the open windows of the villa there came presently the cool elusive sequences of Debussy's music - ghosts of melody rather than melodies, evocations rather than statements; gleams on water and pale lights in spring skies, a single star, slow waves beating in mist on a deserted shore. Grace leant back in the corner of her seat, listening, watching the leaves of the buckthorns, like little curved pencils, against the sky above her head; in the relaxation of fatigue her attention was fixed on nothing, but some part of her was profoundly aware of all these things - the scent of the flowers, the song of the nightingales, the cool western music, with its memories of her own Atlantic shores.”
― Ann Bridge, Illyrian Spring

“Life is a garden if you don"t plant anything in it, it will erase your name.”
― Kamaran Ihsan Salih

“Work your garden diligently. For the fruit will feed you today and the seeds hold the promise of being fed tomorrow.”
― Craig D. Lounsbrough

“But the sunlight had faded, and now she would enjoy the twilight-turned-evening from the beauty of the garden.
Her garden. Was it even possible that might be true? She still thought of the space as belonging to her mother. That she might now possess the place herself was at once an honor and an overwhelming responsibility: this place where red-and-pink camellia petals fluttered to the ground as though creating a carpet for fairies.”
― Ashley Clark, Paint and Nectar

“The beauty of the garden had inspired her art, her attempts to revitalize and preserve the city and redefine it for new generations. But she never imagined the inverse may also hold true. That her art might come to life.
And paint became nectar in a new, beautiful promise.”
― Ashley Clark, Paint and Nectar

“I'd never given much thought to the biblical standpoint on homosexuality, because I was seemingly a born skeptic, and I could sense the evil prejudices of mortal men within the biblical text. I was frightened of God, and for good reason. If I had only picked up the New Testament in my younger days, my life would have been different. The God of the Old Testament was filled with vengeance and rage towards the beings that he created, giving them free will, and then punishing mankind for daring to use it.

Much as it was in the Bible, the dawning of the knowledge of manhood for me began in the garden...”
― Lioness DeWinter, Corinthians

“Murphy peered around, then touched a few of the bushes, letting her fingers run along the ridges of the leaves while she looked at the different shapes and structures of them and the plants they belonged to. There were rosebushes, azaleas, peonies---none of them blooming yet, all being strangled by kudzu and grapevines. It was like a nightmare garden---the kind a creepy old lady with a bunch of cats would have, Murphy decided. A creepy old lady in an old wedding dress she’d been wearing since being jilted at the altar fifty years ago.”
― Jodi Lynn Anderson, Peaches

“Maybe that’s why I’ve always loved this
backyard,” she said, sighing in a girlish way, as if
younger than yesterday. “It doesn’t change, and yet it grows beyond measure.”
― Gina Marinello-Sweeney, Peter

“Gardens take many years to make. One cannot just plant stuff and presto—there is a garden. No, gardens have energy. Like houses, they become part of the energy field of the family living in them, particularly the person who has cared for them the most. That is why I love old gardens and houses. They have life. The regular ups, downs, joys, and sorrows of life all mingle together to create a long-term energy field that can be resurrected and used for good and positive purposes.”
― Donna Goddard, Love's Longing

“The footpath lights in the garden were hidden by ferns and Knock Out roses, giving the area a muted green glow, almost like being under the sea.”
― Sarah Addison Allen, Other Birds: A Novel

“The buzzing beneath my feet intensified as I neared the small pool of water. This had to be the gazing pool I'd heard about. Sheltered by tall, skinny evergreens and shrubs that held heavy clusters of small, delicate white flowers, it was shaded by the canopy of an old live oak tree that had moss growing at the base of its trunk.
Curiosity drew me in. Faint ripples pulsed along the water's surface as the small pool burbled gently, peacefully, as if I relieved to be unburdened of its long-held secret about Bee. I studied the burbling, wondering what caused it, because it didn't appear that anyone had placed a running hose beneath its surface. There was no equipment at all. Just clear water.
A knee-high mossy stone wall enclosed the pool, and ferns grew along its foundation, nestled snugly, their fronds rustling in the warm breeze. Suddenly I felt the urge to sit and stare into the water, and I absently smiled, thinking the gazing pool had been appropriately named.”
― Heather Webber, In the Middle of Hickory Lane

“I built a stone sittin' ledge around the natural spring, which I'm calling the gazing pool because it's mesmerizing. The bees love it, too. I often see them flying near it, and sometimes, and I know this sounds strange, they seem to take on a golden shimmer when they're near the water. I planted some ferns at the pool, too, because some believe ferns represent magic, and it sure feels magical out there to me.”
― Heather Webber, In the Middle of Hickory Lane

“Fragrances rise up---the thyme's spicy astringency and the fuzzy menthol of the sage, the chamomile's daisy-petal smell and the piney cool rosemary. The lavender, not yet in flower, is surprisingly mute. I direct the mist toward the basil, and the aroma jumps up like a lemon tree eating a pizza.”
― Virginia Hartman, The Marsh Queen

“He points to the hydrangeas growing in profusion, tall puffballs the size of cabbages, green and purple and pink. "You know, you can grow different colors on the same plant," he tells me. "Depends on how much acid you make the soil."
Orange and red camellias line the garden's perimeter. They have no scent, as if to balance the heavy sweetness over the front porch.”
― Virginia Hartman, The Marsh Queen

“Content, relaxed, creating, and focused on watering my own garden.”
― Robin S. Baker

“Sometimes, Carter told her, you got to let a garden tend itself.”
― Justin Cronin, The City of Mirrors

“The garden carries flowers, waves of fragrances, and greenery, while a toilet is a place to urinate and defecate; in this context, make your mind like a garden, not a toilet similarity.”
― Ehsan Sehgal

“Everyone here knows a lot about the stars but nothing about the flowers and the trees. There is something wrong with this city. I feel like I don’t fit in here, this city is not for me.”
― Bhuwan Thapaliya

“Don't plant all your flowers in every garden let your flowers to be infront of your eyes so that your eyes can be full of joy.”
― Kamaran Ihsan Salih

“The estate sprawled across a rolling green land. I'd never seen anything like it; even out former manor couldn't compare. It was veiled in roses and ivy, with patios and balconies and staircases sprouting from it's alabaster sides. The grounds were encased by woods, but stretched so far that I could barely see the distant line of the forest. So much colour, so much sunlight and movement and texture... I could hardly drink it in fast enough. To paint it would be useless, would never do it justice.

My awe might have subdued my fear had the place not been so wholly empty and silent. Even the garden through which we walked, following a gravel path to the main doors of the house, seemed hushed and sleepingg. Above the array of amethyst irises and pale snowdrops and butter-yellow daffodils swaying in the balmy breeze, the faint stench of metal tickled my nose.

Of course it would be magic, because it was spring here. What wretched power did they possess to make their lands so different from ours, to control the seasons and weather as if they owned them?”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“Inside, it was even more opulent. Black-and-white checkered marble shone at my feet, flowing to countless doors and a sweeping staircase. A long hall stretched ahead to the giant glass doors at the other end of the house, and through them I glimpsed a second garden, grander than the one out front. No sign of a dungeon- no shouts or pleas rising up from hidden chambers below. No, just the low growl from a nearby room, so deep that it rattled the vases overflowing with fat clusters of hydrangeas atop the scattered hall tables.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses