the various earth odors all have a separate tale to tell, and the leaf mold of the woods bears a wholly different fragrance from that of the soil under pasture turf, or the breath that the garden gives off in… — Mabel Osgood Wright Copy Share Image
Why is it that so many people think that charity consists in giving away merely what they cannot use instead of the article the… — Mabel Osgood Wright Copy Share Image
what's the good of having news an' ye must coop it? It's like cold veal pie upon the chest for supper, the same being… — Mabel Osgood Wright Copy Share Image
Why has no one written a November rhapsody with plenty of lilt and swing? The poets who are moved at all by this month… — Mabel Osgood Wright Copy Share Image
Neither a garden nor a gardener can be made in one year, nor in one generation even. — Mabel Osgood Wright Copy Share Image
I have always noticed that when people consider others eccentric, it is because they are reveling in some form of enjoyment that their critics… — Mabel Osgood Wright Copy Share Image
It doesn't so much matter what one loves. To love is the transfiguring thing. — Mabel Osgood Wright Copy Share Image
even as human vitality is at its lowest ebb in the early morning, so it is with plant life in the early spring. — Mabel Osgood Wright Copy Share Image
what is life worth if one has nothing to give away? This lack, it seems to me, must be the sharpest pang of poverty. — Mabel Osgood Wright Copy Share Image
Mother love is invariably held sacred, as it should be, but why has father love never had its due? — Mabel Osgood Wright Copy Share Image
Nature, when undisturbed, is never monotonous, you know. Even when using green, the most frequent color on her palette, she throws in contrasting tints… — Mabel Osgood Wright Copy Share Image
the various earth odors all have a separate tale to tell, and the leaf mold of the woods bears a wholly different fragrance from… — Mabel Osgood Wright Copy Share Image
That is the stimulus of nature; it is never, never old, and always developing. Even the scarred, wrinkled earth herself is a mere infant… — Mabel Osgood Wright Copy Share Image
