Art

"Grove nods at grove, each alley has a brother, And half the platform just reflects the other. The suff'ring eye inverted nature sees, Trees cut in statues, statues thick as trees; With here a fountain never to be play'd, And there a summer-house that knows no shade."

"Consult the genius of the place in all, That tells the waters or to rise, or fall, Or helps th'ambitious hill the heav'ns to scale, Or scoops in circling theatres the vale, Calls in the country, catches opening glades, Joins willing woods, and varies shades from shades, Now breaks, or now directs, th'intending lines, Paints as you plant, and, as you work, designs."

"To build, to plant, whatever you intend, To rear the column, or the arch to bend, To swell the terrace, or to sink the grot, In all, let Nature never be forgot."

"In laying out a garden, the first and chief thing to be considered is the genius of the place."

"The most beautiful of all gardens is assuredly not that which is rather forest or field than garden, the 'landscape garden' of a false taste; nor, on the other hand, the shaven and trimmed and weeded parterre with an unstarred lawn; but rather the garden long ago strictly planned, rigidly ordered, architecturally piled, smooth and definite, but later set free, given over to time and the sun; not a wilderness, but having an enclosed wilderness, a directed liberty, a designed magnificence and excess."

"’Tis all enforced, the fountain and the grot, While the sweet fields do lie forgot: Where willing nature does to all dispense A wild and fragrant innocence: And fauns and fairies do the meadows till, More by their presence than their skill. Their statues, polished by some ancient hand, May to adorn the gardens stand: But howsoe’er the figures do excel, The gods themselves with us do dwell."

"How well the skilful Gardner drew Of flow’rs and herbs this Dial new; Where from above the milder Sun Does through a fragrant Zodiack run; And, as it works, th’ industrious Bee Computes its time as well as we. How could such sweet and wholsome Hours Be reckon’d but with herbs and flow’rs!"

"A garden is a nursery for nurturing connection, the soil for cultivation of practical reverence. And its power goes far beyond the garden gate—once you develop a relationship with a little patch of earth, it becomes a seed itself."

"The biggest challenge, I think, and this is probably true for all s, is insects, bugs. I somehow started off thinking oh, I won’t have to deal with any insects because my garden will be inside. But insects really, you know, don’t care about that. It just takes one to make it inside, and they don’t have any natural predators, and one becomes a million. That was a constant, constant struggle. I ended up getting beneficial bugs to combat the bad bugs but, especially indoors, that’s a lot of bugs."

"Bright, big-blossomed roses delight the eye, herbs provide s for all ailments, berry bushes supply fruit for s, vegetables go into the indispensable evening soup, and many exotic plants, gifts from long ago, revert to their primal condition."

"It is not ponderable things alone that are found in gardens, but the great wonder of life, the peace of nature, the influences of sunsets and seasons and of all the tangible things to which we can give no name, not because they are small, but because they are outside the compass of our speech. In the great legend of the Fall the spiritual disaster of Man is symbolised by his exclusion from a garden, and the moral tragedy of modern industrialism is only the repetition of that ancient fable. Man lost his garden, and with it that tranquillity of soul that is found in gardens."

"We may eat of the fruit of the trees of the garden: But of the fruit of the tree which is in the midst of the garden, God hath said, Ye shall not eat of it, neither shall ye touch it, lest ye die."

"The is clearly more popular than ever, almost certainly because of its informal approach, the profusion of flowers, and the dreamy ambience. Of particular concern in our modern era, cottage gardens also offer great biodiversity. They are good places for human, animal, and insect life."

"Who loves a garden, loves a greenhouse too."

"I am content to be a bric-a-bracker and a Ceramiker."

"Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump to make one vessel unto honour, and another unto dishonour?"

"The potter, digging the hoe in the ground, for days on end extracting the clay with his hands."

"All this of Pot and Potter—Tell me then, Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?"

"Said one among them: "Surely not in vain My substance of the common Earth was ta'en And to this Figure moulded, to be broke, Or trampled back to shapeless Earth again.""

"And yonder by Nankin, behold! The Tower of Porcelain, strange and old, Uplifting to the astonished skies Its ninefold painted balconies, With balustrades of twining leaves, And roofs of tile, beneath whose eaves Hang porcelain bells that all the time Ring with a soft, melodious chime; While the whole fabric is ablaze With varied tints, all fused in one Great mass of color, like a maze Of flowers illumined by the sun."

"Figures that almost move and speak."

"Turn, turn, my wheel! Turn round and round Without a pause, without a sound: So spins the flying world away! This clay, well mixed with marl and sand, Follows the motion of my hand; For some must follow, and some command, Though all are made of clay!"

"There's a joy without canker or cark, There's a pleasure eternally new, 'Tis to gloat on the glaze and the mark Of china that's ancient and blue; Unchipp'd, all the centuries through It has pass'd, since the chime of it rang, And they fashion'd it, figures and hue, In the reign of the Emperor Hwang. Here's a pot with a cot in a park, In a park where the peach-blossoms blew, Where the lovers eloped in the dark, Lived, died, and were changed into two Bright birds that eternally flew Through the boughs of the May, as they sang; 'Tis a tale was undoubtedly true In the reign of the Emperor Hwang."

"Thou spring'st a leak already in thy crown, A flaw is in thy ill-bak'd vessel found; 'Tis hollow, and returns a jarring sound, Yet thy moist clay is pliant to command, Unwrought, and easy to the potter's hand: Now take the mould; now bend thy mind to feel The first sharp motions of the forming wheel."

"What land is this? Yon pretty town Is Delft, with all its wares displayed: The pride, the market-place, the crown And centre of the Potter's trade."

"The very "marks" on the bottom of a piece of rare crockery are able to throw me into a gibbering ecstasy."

"For a male person bric-a-brac hunting is about as robust a business as making doll-clothes."

"Digestion, much like Love and Wine, no trifling will brook: His cook once spoiled the dinner of an Emperor of men; The dinner spoiled the temper of his Majesty, and then The Emperor made history—and no one blamed the cook."

"Very astonishing indeed! strange thing!" (Turning the Dumpling round, rejoined the King), "'Tis most extraordinary, then, all this is; It beats Penetti's conjuring all to pieces; Strange I should never of a Dumpling dream! But, Goody, tell me where, where, where's the Seam?" "Sire, there's no Seam," quoth she; "I never knew That folks did Apple-Dumplings sew." "No!" cried the staring Monarch with a grin; "How, how the devil got the Apple in?"

"This Bouillabaisse a noble dish is— A sort of soup or broth, or brew, Or hotchpotch of all sorts of fishes, That Greenwich never could outdo; Green herbs, red peppers, mussels, saffron, Soles, onions, garlic, roach, and dace; All these you eat at Terre's tavern, In that one dish of Bouillabaisse."

"Velocius (or citius) quam asparagi coquantur."

"Let onion atoms lurk within the bowl, And, half-suspected, animate the whole."

"The waste of many good materials, the vexation that frequently attends such mismanagements, and the curses not unfrequently bestowed on cooks with the usual reflection, that whereas God sends good meat, the devil sends cooks."

"He ruleth all the roste With bragging and with boste."

"A crier of green sauce."

"I never strove to rule the roast, She ne'er refus'd to pledge my toast."

"The vulgar boil, the learned roast, an egg."

"Of herbs, and other country messes, Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses."

"Poure faire un civet, prenez un lièvre."

"Heaven sends us good meat, but the devil sends us cooks."

"Ever a glutton, at another's cost, But in whose kitchen dwells perpetual frost."

"Hallo! A great deal of steam! the pudding was out of the copper. A smell like a washing-day! That was the cloth. A smell like an eating-house and a pastrycook's next door to each other, with a laundress's next door to that. That was the pudding."

"Great pity were it if this beneficence of Providence should be marr'd in the ordering, so as to justly merit the Reflection of the old proverb, that though God sends us meat, yet the D— does cooks."

"Every investigation which is guided by principles of nature fixes its ultimate aim entirely on gratifying the stomach."

"Humans, unlike other animals, have a built-in need for supplemental energy, such as firewood, or fossil fuel energy. Over one million years ago, pre-humans figured out how to cook part of their food. Because of this cooked food, their jaws and digestive apparatus could shrink in size. The improved food supply allowed their brains to improve in complexity. Also, cooked food greatly reduced the time required for chewing, allowing more time for toolmaking and crafts. Heat is also important for killing pathogens in water."

"God sends meat, and the Devil sends cooks."

"No one here will be surprised to hear me say that the Promethean fire which first raised humanity above the animal was the cooking fire."

"He that will have a cake out of the wheat must needs tarry the grinding. Have I not tarried? Ay, the grinding: but you must tarry the bolting. Have I not tarried? Ay, the bolting: but you must tarry the leavening. Still have I tarried. Ay, to the leavening: but here's yet in the word "hereafter" the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating of the oven and the baking: nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips."

"'Tis burnt; and so is all the meat. What dogs are these! Where is the rascal cook? How durst you, villains, bring it from the dresser, And serve it thus to me that love it not?"

"Oh, better no doubt is a dinner of herbs, When season'd by love, which no rancour disturbs And sweeten'd by all that is sweetest in life Than turbot, bisque, ortolans, eaten in strife! But if, out of humour, and hungry, alone A man should sit down to dinner, each one Of the dishes of which the cook chooses to spoil With a horrible mixture of garlic and oil, The chances are ten against one, I must own, He gets up as ill-tempered as when he sat down."