Ole Golly: The time has come, the walrus said. . . Harriet M. Welsch: To talk of many things. . . Ole Golly: Of shoes and ships and ceiling wax. . . Harriet M. Welsch: Of cabbages and kings. . . Ole Golly: And why the sea is boiling hot. . . Harriet M. Welsch: And whether pigs have wings!
But always, to her, red and green cabbages were to be jade and burgundy, chrysoprase and prophyry. Life has no weapons against a woman like that.
I want death to find me planting my cabbages.
Cabbages, whose heads, tightly folded see and hear nothing of this world, dreaming only on the yellow and green magnificence that is hardening within them.
He is useless on top of the ground; he ought to be under it, inspiring the cabbages.
Oh thrice and four times happy. . . those who plant cabbages.
Nobody has ever expected me to be President. In my poor, lean, lank face, nobody has ever seen that any cabbages were sprouting out.
Kings and cabbages go back to compost, but good deeds stay green forever.
