Mockingbirds don't do one thing but make music for us to enjoy. They don't eat up people's gardens, don't nest in corncribs, they don't do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That's why it's a sin to kill a mockingbird.

This is a true prophecy, as true as yours ever were. When the souls rise up in glory, yours shall not be shunned nor sundered, but shall be the prize of the Gods' gardens. Even your darkness shall be treasured then, and all your pain made holy.

You modeled for me what it means to grow gardens of food, build places, and imagineer kites.

Black women are the tall trees that remain standing in a forest after a fire. They carry themselves like royal oak trees; mighty. untouchable. From below, you can see our tight spirals and our limbs stretching. We have been hurt; our sweet sap coughing out of our mouths and oozing down from our eyes. They cut off our sprouting gardens on our heads. We are trampled down in deforestation?What about the little trees watching our mothers and fathers fall from grace? Is America listening? Why have you lied?

You know, we can quote the written Word all day to our friends, but nothing will touch them like our own hunger and love for the Word himself. It is not dutiful love that attracts but love freely lavished from a heart familiar with the gardens of heaven.

The Secret Garden was what Mary called it when she was thinking of it. She liked the name, and she liked still more the feeling that when its beautiful old walls shut her in no one knew where she was. It seemed almost like being shut out of the world in some fairy place. The few books she had read and liked had been fairy-story books, and she had read of secret gardens in some of the stories. Sometimes people went to sleep in them for a hundred years, which she had thought must be rather stupid. She had no intention of going to sleep, and, in fact, she was becoming wider awake every day which passed at Misselthwaite.

We are all dying, every moment that passes of every day. That is the inescapable truth of this existence. It is a truth that can paralyze us with fear, or one that can energize us with impatience, with the desire to explore and experience, with the hope- nay, the iron-will!- to find a memory in every action. To be alive, under sunshine, or starlight, in weather fair or stormy. To dance with every step, be they through gardens of flowers or through deep snows.

Sadness is but a wall between two gardens.

Poetry is the art of creating imaginary gardens with real toads.

This house was our dream-the gardens the study even the swimming pool. Even though I can't see John when I wake up in the morning I can always feel him here with me.

I live in literally the same home when I was swiping my first bank card and wondering if I'd have to put back the Charmin. We still don't have a dishwasher. My mom has done all these gardens so now my house looks like the garden shack in the middle of Versailles.

Happiness grows at our own firesides and is not to be picked in strangers' gardens.

I loathe gardening but I love gardens and I have two beautiful gardens. I can not bear gardening but I love gardens.

How deeply seated in the human heart is the liking for gardens and gardening.

Gardens are not made by singing 'Oh how beautiful ' and sitting in the shade.

I don't like formal gardens. I like wild nature. It's just the wilderness instinct in me I guess.

Remember that children marriages and flower gardens reflect the kind of care they get.

I think gardens are fantastic and I'd love to draw and design and stuff like that. I love just planting flowers during the summer. There's something very humble about it and natural and beautiful.

I often find myself privately stewing about much British art thinking that except for their tremendous gardens that the English are not primarily visual artists and are in nearly unsurpassable ways literary.