“Our bodies are our gardens to which our wills are gardeners.”

“We're neither pure, nor wise, nor goodWe'll do the best we know.We'll build our house and chop our woodAnd make our garden grow.And make our garden grow!”

“In the same way that the picturesque designers were always careful to include some reminder of our mortality in their gardens -- a ruin, sometimes even a dead tree -- the act of leaving parts of the garden untended, and calling attention to its margins, seems to undermine any pretense to perfect power or wisdom on the part of the gardener. The margins of our gardens can be tropes too, but figures of irony rather than transcendence -- antidotes, in fact, to our hubris. It may be in the margins of our gardens that we can discover fresh ways to bring our aesthetics and our ethics about the land into some meaningful alignment.”

“Let us cultivate our garden.”

“Tis in ourselves that we are thusor thus. Our bodies are our gardens, to the whichour wills are gardeners: so that if we will plantnettles, or sow lettuce, set hyssop and weed upthyme, supply it with one gender of herbs, ordistract it with many, either to have it sterilewith idleness, or manured with industry, why, thepower and corrigible authority of this lies in ourwills. If the balance of our lives had not onescale of reason to poise another of sensuality, theblood and baseness of our natures would conduct usto most preposterous conclusions: but we havereason to cool our raging motions, our carnalstings, our unbitted lusts, whereof I take this thatyou call love to be a sect or scion.”

“We should be happy to see toads in our gardens.”