Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
Serenity of spirit and turbulence of action should make up the sum of a man's life.
Not seeing is half-believing.
Tools have their own integrity.
Flowers really do intoxicate me.
There are no signposts in the sea.
The Saluki is a marvel of elegance.
Summer makes a silence after spring.
A man and his tools make a man and his trade.
Forget not bees in winter, though they sleep.
Growth is exciting; growth is dynamic and alarming.
The wise traveler is he who is perpetually surprised.
Men of my age live in a state of continual desperation.
One must be businesslike, although the glass is falling.
April, the angel of the months, the young love of the year.
Ambition, old as mankind, the immemorial weakness of the strong.
What is beautiful is good, and who is good will soon be beautiful.
I worshipped dead men for their strength, Forgetting I was strong.
Still, no gardener would be a gardener if he did not live in hope.
I cannot bear that you / Should think me faithful, when I am untrue.
how poor and disheartening a thing is experience compared with hope!
For bees are captious folk / And quick to turn against the lubber's touch.
Autumn in felted slipper shuffles on, Muted yet fiery.--Vita Sackville-West
My garden all is overblown with roses,/ My spirit all is overblown with rhyme.
It isn't that I don't like sweet disorder, but it has to be judiciously arranged.
All craftsmen share a knowledge. They have heldReality down fluttering to a bench.
It is dreadful how I miss you, and everything that everybody says seems flat and stupid.
[On writing:] The most egotistic of occupations, and the most gratifying while it lasts.
Travel is a private pleasure, since it consists entirely of things felt and things seen.
I miss you even more than I could have believed; and I was prepared to miss you a good deal.
There is always something else to do. A gardener should have nine times as many lives as a cat.
There's no beginning to the farmer's year, / Only recurrent patterns on a scroll / Unwinding...
To hope for Paradise is to live in Paradise, a very different thing from actually getting there.
Things were not tragic for us then, because although we cared passionately we didn't care deeply.
Women, like men, ought to have their youth so glutted with freedom they hate the very idea of freedom.
Authority has every reason to fear the skeptic, for authority can rarely survive in the face of doubt.
Nothing shows up the difference between the things said or read, so much as the daily experience of it.
Women, like men, ought to have their years so glutted with freedom that they hate the very idea of freedom.
Successful gardening is not necessarily a question of wealth, it is a question of love, taste, and knowledge.
Prose is a poor thing, a poor inadequate thing, compared with poetry which says so much more in shorter time.
The more one gardens, the more one learns; And the more one learns, the more one realizes how little one knows.
I suppose the pleasure of country life lies really in the eternally renewed evidences of the determination to live.
See the last orange roses, how they blow / Deeper and heavier than in their prime, / In one defiant flame before they go.
I have come to the conclusion, after many years of sometimes sad experience, that you cannot come to any conclusion at all.
A flowerless room is a soulless room, to my way of thinking; but even a solitary little vase of a living flower may redeem it.
Everywhere bees go racing with the hours, / For every bee becomes a drunken lover, / Standing upon his head to sup the flowers.
I loved you when love was Spring, and May, Loved you when summer deepened into June, and now when autumn yellows all the leaves.
Among the many problems which beset the novelist, not the least weighty is the choice of the moment at which to begin his novel.
I cannot abide the Mr. and Mrs. Noah attitude towards marriage; the animals went in two by two, forever stuck together with glue.
It is no good my telling you. One never believes other people's experiencem and one is only very gradually convinced by one's own.
But you, oh gardener, poet that you be / Though unaware, now use your seeds like words / And make them lilt with color nicely flung.
