The world is not so much in need of new thoughts as that when thought grows old and worn with usage it should, like current coin, be called in, and, from the mint of genius, reissued fresh and new.

Every man's road in life is marked by the grave of his personal likings.

How deeply seated in the human heart is the liking for gardens and gardening.

In my garden, care stops at the gate and gazes at me wistfully through the bars.

Sweet April's tears, Dead on the hem of May.

Not on the stage alone, in the world also, a man's real character comes out best in his asides.

Death is the ugly fact which Nature has to hide, and she hides it well.