Her lawn looks like a meadow, And if she mows the place…

Everything about the compound there at Hendrick Motorsports just down the street is perfect. Everything down to the way they mow the lawn. It…

— Kyle Larson

“If your neighbor's lawn looks better than yours, don't let jealousy consume you … start working on yours. With love and dedication, your side…

— Maria Hernandez

Oak, granite, Lilies by the road, Remember me? I remember you. Clouds brushing Clover hills, Remember me? Sister, child, Grown tall, Remember me? I…

— Gail Carson Levine

Last of all came the cat, who looked round, as usual, for the warmest place, and finally squeezed herself in between Boxer and Clover;…

— George Orwell

If you work, if you wait, you will find the place where the four-leaf clovers grow.

— Ella Higginson

Winter looked at Leven. Leven looked right back at her. Winter's cheeks burned red and her green eyes outshone Leven's. The two of them…

— Obert Skye

His Labor is a Chant - His Idleness -a Tune - Oh, for a Bee's experience Of Clovers, and of Noon!

— Emily Dickinson

There's no dew left on the daisies and clover; there's no rain left in heaven.

— Jean Ingelow

A silence, the brief Sabbath of an hour, Reigns o'er the fields; the laborer sits within His dwelling; he has left his steers awhile,…

— William C. Bryant

I noticed that all the prayers I used to offer to God, and all the prayers I now offer to Joe Pesci, are being…

— George Carlin

The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, Conceives by idleness,…

— William Shakespeare

“Ilse and I hunted all over the old orchard today for a four-leaved clover and couldn't find one. Then I found one in a…

— L.M. Montgomery

What was that you gave me to eat?" Winter panicked. A Filler Crisp," Clover said, his eyes seventy percent concerned and thirty percent mischievous.

— Obert Skye

I was in a vintage pub rock band called Clover in the 1970s.

— Huey Lewis

One June evening, when the orchards were pink-blossomed again, when the frogs were singing silverly sweet in the marshes about the head of the…

— Anonymous