The kiss of sun for pardon, / The song of the birds for mirth, – / One is nearer God’s heart in a garden / Than anywhere else on earth.
Gardening is not a rational act.
Gardening has compensations out of all proportion to its goals. It is creation in the pure sense.
The trouble with gardening…is that it does not remain an avocation. It becomes an obsession.
Gardening is a madness, a folly that does not go away with age. Quite the contrary.
A garden isn’t meant to be useful. It’s for joy.
Gardens are the result of a collaboration between art and nature.
There is a kind of immortality in every garden.
There’s little risk in becoming overly proud of one’s garden because by its very nature is humbling. It has a way of keeping you on your knees.
Each garden has its own surprise.
A garden has a curious innocent way of consuming cash while all the time you are under the illusion that you are spending nothing.