#garden

A garden requires patient labor and attention. Plants do not grow merely to satisfy ambitions or to fulfill good intentions. They thrive because someone expended effort on them. ↗

— Liberty Hyde Bailey

#attention #because #effort #expended #fulfill

The earth is my altar, the sky is my dome, mind is my garden, the heart is my home and I'm always at home - yea, I'm always at Om. ↗

— Eden Ahbez

#always #dome #earth #garden #heart

Once you understand this way, you will be able to make your room alive; you will be able to design a house together with your family; a garden for your children; places where you can work; beautiful terraces where you can sit and dream. ↗

— Christopher Alexander

#alive #beautiful #children #design #dream

Shigemori's body of work is a compelling manifesto for continuous cultural renewal. ↗

— Christian Tschumi

#culture #garden #japan #zen #art

Give the children an opportunity to make garden. Let them grow what they will. It matters less that they grow good plants than that they try for themselves. ↗

— Liberty Hyde Bailey

#garden #give #good #grow #less

I love being in my garden. I don't plant a lot of exotic flora, but I do spend a lot of time outside doing manual labour. ↗

— Jacqueline Bisset

#doing #exotic #flora #garden #i

I want to still be able to garden while I can bend over. ↗

— Barbara Bush

#bend #garden #i #i can #over

At night in the tent, he leaves the flaps open, to feel the fire outside, to hear Anthony in the trailer, to see her better. She asks him to lie on his stomach, and he does, though he can't see her, while she runs her bare breasts over his disfigured back, her nipples hardening into his scars. You feel that? she whispers. Oh, he does. He still feels it. She kisses him from the top of his head downward, from his buzz-cut scalp, his shoulder blades, his wounds. Inch by inch she cries over him and kisses her own salt away, murmuring into him, why did you have to keep running? Look what they did to you. Why didn't you just stay put? Why couldn't you feel I was coming for you? You thought I was dead, he says. You thought I had been killed and pushed through the ice in Lake Ladoga. And what really happened was, I was a Soviet man left in a Soviet prison. Wasn't I dead? He is fairly certain he is alive now, and while Tatiana lies on top of his back and cries, he remembers being caught by the dogs a kilometer from Oranienburg and held in place by the Alsatians until Karolich arived, and being flogged in Sachsenhausen's main square and then chained and tattooed publicly with the 25-point star to remind him of his time for Stalin, and now she lies on his back, kissing the scars he received when he tried to escape to make his way back to her so she could kiss him. As he drives across Texas, Alexander remembers himself in Germany lying in the bloody straw after being beaten and dreaming of her kissing him, and these dreams morph with the memories of last night, and suddenly she is kissing not the scars but the raw oozing wounds, and he is in agony for she is crying and the brine of her tears is eating away the meat of his flesh, and he is begging her to stop because he can't take it anymore. Kiss something else, he pleads. Anything else. He's had enough of himself. He's sick of himself. She is tainted not just with the Gulag. She is tainted with his whole life. Does it hurt when I touch them? He has to lie. Every kiss she plants on his wounds stirs a sense memory of how he got them. He wanted her to touch him, and this is what he gets. But if he tells her the truth, she will stop. So he lied. No, he says. ↗

— Paullina Simons

#dreams

Little Sparta is a garden in the traditional sense. It is perhaps not like other modern gardens, but I think that other times would have had no difficulty with it. ↗

— Ian Hamilton Finlay

#garden #gardens #had #i #i think

A true poet does not bother to be poetical. Nor does a nursery gardener scent his roses. ↗

— Jean Cocteau

#bother #does #gardener #his #nor