#garden

I do some of my best thinking while pulling weeds. ↗

— Martha Smith

#best #i #i do #pulling #some

When a finished work of 20th century sculpture is placed in an 18th century garden, it is absorbed by the ideal representation of the past, thus reinforcing political and social values that are no longer with us. ↗

— Robert Smithson

#18th century #20th century #century #finished #finished work

Planting native species in our gardens and communities is increasingly important, because indigenous insects, birds and wildlife rely on them. Over thousands, and sometimes millions, of years they have co-evolved to live in local climate and soil conditions. ↗

— David Suzuki

#birds #climate #communities #conditions #gardens

If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need. ↗

— Marcus Tullius Cicero

#everything #garden #library #need #you

I got involved in Gateway National Park and just became fascinated with gardens. ↗

— Alexandra Kerry

#fascinated #gardens #gateway #got #i

One does not lash hat lies at a distance. The foibles that we ridicule must at least be a little bit our own. Only then will the work be a part of our own flesh. The garden must be weeded. ↗

— Paul Klee

#distance #does #flesh #garden #hat

I have become a prisoner of the peace movement. But you can't say that the termination is coming and then say that you are going back to your own garden to dig. ↗

— E. P. Thompson

#become #coming #dig #garden #going

Someone had told me about a house in Wandsworth, southwest London - 21 Blenkarne Road - with an incredible garden, so I went and had a look. I walked in and just said, 'I want it.' ↗

— Susannah York

#garden #had #house #i #incredible

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

— Rudyard Kipling

#gardens #work #beauty

On the warm stone walls, climbing roses were just coming into bloom and great twisted branches of honeysuckle and clematis wrestled each other as they tumbled up and over the top of the wall. Against another wall were white apple blossoms on branches cut into sharp crucifixes and forced to lie flat against the stone. Below, the huge frilled lips of giant tulips in shades of white and cream nodded in their beds. They were almost finished now, spread open too far, splayed, exposing obscene black centers. I've never had my own garden but I suddenly recognized something in the tangle of this one that wasn't beauty. Passion, maybe. And something else. Rage. ↗

— Meg Rosoff

#edmond #garden #passion #rage #war