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1 " In all my wanderings through this world of care,In all my griefs -- and God has given my share --I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown,Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down;To husband out life's taper at the close,And keep the flame from wasting, by repose:I still had hopes, for pride attends us still,Amidst the swains to show my book-learn'd skill,Around my fire an evening group to draw,And tell of all I felt, and all I saw;And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue,Pants to the place from whence at first she flew,I still had hopes, my long vexations past,Here to return -- and die at home at last. "
― Oliver Goldsmith
2 " As a youth, I listened to the rain from the bowers of pleasure houses,Red silk drapes translucent in the glow of candlelight.In my prime, I listened to the rain as a traveler,The sky low, the river broad, the calls of the wild geese harsh and cold.Now, grey at the temples, I listen to the rain beneath the eaves of an abandoned cloister.Has mine been a futile life?I have no answers, only the sound of raindrops upon worn stone steps,And long hours yet to pass before the light of dawn. "
― Sherry Thomas , My Beautiful Enemy (The Heart of Blade Duology, #2)
3 " Government, like dress, is the badge of lost innocence; the palaces of kings are built on the ruins of the bowers of paradise. "
― Thomas Paine , Common Sense
4 " Agatha surveys the garden, its rows of crinkled spring cabbages and beanstalks entwining bowers of hawthorn and hazel. The rosemary is dotted with pale blue stars of blossom and chives nod heads of tousled purple. New sage leaves sprout silver green among the brittle, frost-browned remains of last year's growth. Lily of the valley, she thinks, that will be out in the cloister garden at Saint Justina's by now. "
