C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917.


To win the secret of a weed’s plain heart.


Call us not weeds, we are flowers of the sea.

E. L. Aveline.

  • The summer’s flower is to the summer sweet,
  • Though to itself it only live and die,
  • But if that flower with base infection meet,
  • The basest weed outbraves his dignity;
  • For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;
  • Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
  • Shakespeare.

  • I will go root away
  • The noisome weeds which without profit suck
  • The soil’s fertility from wholesome flowers.
  • Shakespeare.

  • Now ’tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted;
  • Suffer them now, and they’ll o’ergrow the garden,
  • And choke the herbs for want of husbandry.
  • Shakespeare.

  • In the deep shadow of the porch
  • A slender bind-weed springs,
  • And climbs, like airy acrobat,
  • The trellises, and swings
  • And dances in the golden sun
  • In fairy loops and rings.
  • Susan Coolidge.