Anyone who has got a book collection and a garden wants for nothing.
Related quotes
To Any Reader
As from the house your mother sees
You playing round the garden trees,
So you may see, if you will look
Through the windows of this book,
Another child, far, far away,
And in another garden, play.
But do not think you can at all,
By knocking on the window, call
That child to hear you. He intent
Is all on his play-business bent.
He does not hear; he will not look,
Nor yet be lured out of this book.
For, long ago, the truth to say,
He has grown up and gone away,
And it is but a child of air
That lingers in the garden there.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sunny On the Other Side
Let not a rainy day,
cast a shadow upon your garden.
Let not your worries be over your head.
Let not others downfall be your upbringing.
Let not anger define your character.
Let not your garden be full of weeds.
Let not greed entangle like vines.
Let not life loose it's meaning.
Let not love be lost to lust.
Let not your passions fade away.
Let not your book have few pages.
Let your book become a novel, and in that novel, control the outcome.
Let rainy days inflict the greatest growth.
Let your garden become a jungle.
Keep your gate open to the seeds of life,
and inside those gates, dreams will bare the sweetest fruit.
Let only the sun,
cast a shadow upon your garden.
poem by Jacob Gifford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My book collection is primarily in America, since that's where I've lived most of my life.
quote by Terri Windling
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Their Kind Of Books
You are somebody's wife and now,
Somebody's husband is using you;
But, is this what you call love? !
You are somebody's husband and now,
Somebody's wife is sleeping with you;
But, is this what you call love? !
What kind of world is this?
Is this the kind of love or lust that you want?
What kind of garden of Eden is this?
Is this what you call lust or love?
Oh, what a shame! ! !
A lady sleeps with a president and writes a book about it,
A man kills a woman ans writes a book about it,
A thief robs a bank and writes a book about it,
A man sleeps with somebody's wife and writes a book about it,
A flirt sleeps with different people and writes a book about it,
A kidnapper is very successful with his or her acts and writes a book about it,
A woman kills a man and writes a book about it,
And so on and so forth as we seen in this world;
But, sin is like enjoyment to these people in this Garden of Eden!
And now, thier kind of books are all over the stores in this world for sale.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Weep For The Past
When I would go running to father for hugs
and admiring Nan's collection of teacups and mugs,
When I would pick daisies from the lush garden grass
and go with my mother to morning Sunday mass,
When I stored collections of shiny coloured stones
and the dog collected and buried his long juicy bones,
When brother would kick his football all day
and I would sit happily in the garden to play,
When I would paint pictures of my childhood and me
and now I weep back to where I loved to once be.
poem by Pensive Phoenix
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The most terrifying thing I can think of is being alone - and I mean utterly alone, like no one else in the world alone - at night. That's the nucleus of the first story in my collection and it's also where the title came from for the book.
I've got a great cigar collection - it's actually not a collection, because that would imply I wasn't going to smoke every last one of 'em.
I've just finished my next collection, Possible Side Effects, and I'm now working on a collection of holiday stories as well as a memoir about my relationship with my father.
quote by Augusten Burroughs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
As far as advice, that will be in my next book, my next collection. I certainly never like to instruct anyone, but just say as I feel. That's the same as advice, isn't it?
My Childhood Garden
my childhood garden
my childhood garden
lush and green
it was so happy it made me scream
my joy and hopes
and all my mopes
my childhood garden
my childhood garden
with the ups and downs
when i jumped i could not touch the ground
with my purle ponys
it made it homey
my childhood garden
my childhood garden
flying high
with the little lies
the grass fine
up in the sky my kite
my childhood garden
my childhood garden
now in the past
i now know that it can never last
now as i get taller
it was differnt when i was smaller
my childhood garden
poem by Danielle Eager
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
When You Define A Thing
when you define
a thing, you limit it,
it is like fencing
your garden
the garden becomes
a set of exclusive
flowers, and anything
not like it becomes
a weed, and anything
that moves
becomes a pest
it is not that you
do not define, we do
it sometimes
only to understand
the limits of
understanding,
but we must be open
to other possibilities
of a garden,
a garden of stones
a garden of sand
of mud, of water
a fountain, a garden
of winds, of clouds
a garden of memories
like a poem
for instance, a garden
of words,
words with arms open
to the magic
of further creation
words still trying
to define themselves
in the garden
of the unknown
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
There's not too much difference between writing a picture book and writing a collection of a hundred poems or so, except that the bigger books take a lot longer to do.
quote by Jack Prelutsky
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I write about five thousand words a day, when working on a book, about three thousand a day if I'm writing a short story. I take long periods off between projects, when I read a lot, garden, and think about the next book or stories.
quote by Eric Brown
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
In the Garden, With My Father
It is spring.
As in my garden, I stand.
In the garden -
My father is there;
... though long since gone...
He IS there.
I tend to the weeds,
The veggies and flowers...
He is there.
I never understood him
(as I should have, could have) ...
Until now,
Here, in the garden.
Where I, like he, work the soil.
I've come just recently
(these last few years)
To enjoy and love my garden so.
- I am not as surprised afterall, as I would have thought,
To find him here.
Here, in the garden.
He loved his garden very much.......
I - at that early age of restless youth - had no use
For such slow moving things.
But now, I see, and myself move, at a much slower pace.
Therefore, it is him I am here and now able to see,
In the garden.
Watching it all grow, so peacefully.
It is somewhat sad, that now,
When I can no longer tell him,
I understand.
For I have come to find... I love the garden too,
Just as much as he;
And we both always will.
My father - standing in the garden -
I now know.
After all these long years.
And I've missed him so;
But, how wonderful to find,
He IS here...
In the garden, our garden,
Always, with me.
poem by Smoky Hoss
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Why.............?
The American book of 'why',
The Asian book of 'why',
The European book of 'why',
The African book of 'why',
The Australian book of 'why',
The most asked question in the valley of world events;
Especially when one explodes a bomb!
The Christian book of 'why',
The Muslim book of 'why',
The Jewish book of 'why',
The Hindu book of 'why',
The Krishna book of 'why',
lLife is like the yeast which makes the bread rise;
But, the writer always has his or her own mind.
The Pagan book of 'why',
The Buddhist book of 'why',
The Protestant book of 'why',
The Confucian book of 'why',
To all life's aspects with the remaining books of 'why';
Poetry is the literature that muses with the mind.
Shall the trumpet be blown in the city and,
The people will not be afraid?
Seven bulls and seven rams,
I am the planted tree by the rivers of waters.
I am very young in years but,
The word 'why' is the question that goes around easily.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Canadian Chronicles 25
For Ray
My friend’s partner Ray
has a hobby
and his collection
has earned him a nickname from it.
He collects Buddha’s
as others would collect books.
A large collection he has
that now people call him
the Buddha man.
16 June 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Anyway, in the mid 80's I was spending a fortune buying old Golden Age books from the late 30's and 40's and I was making personal appearances at a lot of sci fi and comic book conventions all around the country here so that I could find books for my collection.
Envoy For "A Child's Garden Of Verses"
WHETHER upon the garden seat
You lounge with your uplifted feet
Under the May's whole Heaven of blue;
Or whether on the sofa you,
No grown up person being by,
Do some soft corner occupy;
Take you this volume in your hands
And enter into other lands,
For lo! (as children feign) suppose
You, hunting in the garden rows,
Or in the lumbered attic, or
The cellar - a nail-studded door
And dark, descending stairway found
That led to kingdoms underground:
There standing, you should hear with ease
Strange birds a-singing, or the trees
Swing in big robber woods, or bells
On many fairy citadels:
There passing through (a step or so -
Neither mamma nor nurse need know!)
From your nice nurseries you would pass,
Like Alice through the Looking-Glass
Or Gerda following Little Ray,
To wondrous countries far away.
Well, and just so this volume can
Transport each little maid or man
Presto from where they live away
Where other children used to play.
As from the house your mother sees
You playing round the garden trees,
So you may see if you but look
Through the windows of this book
Another child far, far away
And in another garden play.
But do not think you can at all,
By knocking on the window, call
That child to hear you. He intent
Is still on his play-business bent.
He does not hear, he will not look,
Nor yet be lured out of this book.
For long ago, the truth to say,
He has grown up and gone away;
And it is but a child of air
That lingers in the garden there.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Collection
Collection, ten, net, on, no, ton, not, colt, cot, tell, line, tin;
But evil appears out of the North! !
Collection, ion, toll, Cole, Lot, lot, let, cone, cell, in, cine;
The prophets prophesy falsely to gain their wealth! !
And the preachers bear rule by their own authority;
But the people around do love it so.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Garden, The
do you believe in the man in the garden
Do you believe that he was there
Do you believe in the man in the garden
Do you believe or do you care
Did he rise from the ashes and lead the sky above
Did he lie in the name of love
....in the garden
Do you believe in the path that you follow
Do you believe it takes you where you want
Do you believe in the lies that you swallow
Do you believe it takes you where you go
See the man. he never lies he never will
Did he fight for the right to kill
....in the garden
....in the garden
There's a little man in a house alone...waiting
He doesn't lie.
He doesn't wait for love to hold on to
He doesn't lie. he doesn't wait...
Johnny's in the garden
I see the err in my ways
....in the garden
Do you believe in the man in the garden
song performed by by Five For Fighting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!