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

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

Most people, early in November, take last looks at their gardens, are are then prepared to ignore them until the spring. I am quite sure that a garden doesn't like to be ignored like this. It doesn't like to be covered in dust sheets, as though it were an old room which you had shut up during the winter. Especially since a garden knows how gay and delightful it can be, even in the very frozen heart of the winter, if you only give it a chance.

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.

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

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.