Do you ever find yourself bursting into a sort of lunatic laughter at the sheer prettiness of things?

We both know, you and I, that if all men were gardeners, the world at last would be at peace.

A garden without cats, it will be generally agreed, can scarcely deserve to be called a garden at all...much of the magic of the heather beds would vanish if, as we bent over them, there was no chance that we might hear a faint rustle among the blossoms, and find ourselves staring into a pair of sleepy green eyes.

Long experience has taught me that people who do not like geraniums have something morally unsound about them. Sooner or later you will find them out; you will discover that they drink, or steal books, or speak sharply to cats. Never trust a man or a woman who is not passionately devoted to geraniums.

It is only to the gardener that time is a friend, giving each year more than he steals.

Well, I love geraniums, and anybody who does not love geraniums must obviously be a depraved and loathsome person.

A garden is a place for shaping a little world of your own according to your heart's desire.