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

Weeds

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

Lowell.

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.

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