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

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

To dig one's own spade into one's own earth! Has life anything better to offer than this?

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

A gardener is never shut out from his garden, wherever he may be. Its comfort never fails. Though the city may close about him, and the grime and soot descend upon him, he can still wander in his garden, does he but close his eyes.

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.

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