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There is a kind of immortality in every garden.

Gladys Taber

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Gladys Taber
Age: 80 †
Born: 1899
Born: April 12
Died: 1980
Died: March 11
Author
Writer
Colorado Springs
Colorado
Gladys Bagg Taber
Kind
Time
Impermanence
Immortality
Garden
Dying
Death
Every

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The creative instincts, the love force must be nourished with every beat of our hearts until they overbalance the destructive instincts.
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the tentacles of today reach out like an octopus to swallow yesterday.
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Christmas is a bridge. We need bridges as the river of time flows past.
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A good recipe for a human reducing breakfast is a lot of good things to eat, and three spaniels and two cats to eat with.
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The curious thing about fishing is you never want to go home. If you catch something, you can't stop. If you don't catch anything, you hate to leave in case something might bite.
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Christmas is a bridge. We need bridges as the river of time flows past. Today's Christmas should mean creating happy hours for tomorrow and reliving those of yesterday.
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If I had Aladdin's lamp and the usual three wishes, the first would always be, 'Give me the first day of June.
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April is a promise of what's to come.
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The real evidence of growing older is that things level off in importance.
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June in New England is like a lover's dream made tangible.
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Dog lovers are a good breed themselves.
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After all, catching something is purely a by-product of our fishing. It is the act of fishing that wipes away all grief, lightens all worry, dissolves fear and anxiety.
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I cannot imagine a cat in an Obedience ring, running around in the hot sun and doing things on command. For it would not make sense. Whereas a dog is tolerant of your not making sense and only wants to fix things so you are happy.
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November wind has a sound different from any other. It is easy to imagine the cave of the winds in some mythical Northland where the winds are born and the gods send them out to conquer the quiet air.
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Long cold nights mark November's return, grey rains fall, wind walks in the bronze oak leaves.
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We need time to dream, time to remember, and time to reach the infinite. Time to be.
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Almost all words do have colour and nothing is more pleasant than to utter a pink word and see someone's eyes light up and know it is a pink word for him or her too.
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Perhaps, after all, our best thoughts come when we are alone. It is good to listen, not to voices but to the wind blowing, to the brook running cool over polished stones, to bees drowsy with the weight of pollen. If we attend to the music of the earth, we reach serenity. And then, in some unexplained way, we share it with others.
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Faith is a curious thing. It must be renewed it has its own spring.
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Most cats feel that bird-catching is their duty the instinct goes back to prehistoric times. Amber keeps in practice by chasing moths.
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