Lettuce is like conversation; it must be fresh and crisp, so sparkling that you scarcely notice the bitter in it.

The love of dirt is among the earliest of passions, as it is the latest. Mud-pies gratify one of our first and best instincts. So long as we are dirty, we are pure. Fondness for the ground comes back to a man after he has run the round of pleasure and business, eaten dirt, and sown wild oats, drifted about the world, and taken the wind of all its moods. The love of digging in the ground (or of looking on while he pays another to dig) is as sure to come back to him, as he is sure, at last, to go under the ground, and stay there.

Happy is said to be the family which can eat onions together. They are, for the time being, separate, from the world, and have a harmony of aspiration.

There isn't a wife in the world who has not taken the exact measure of her husband, weighed him and settled him in her own mind, and knows him as well as if she had ordered him after designs and specifications of her own.

A garden is an awful responsibility. You never know what you may be aiding to grow in it.

The world is full of poetry as the earth is of pay-dirt; one only needs to know how to strike it.

What small potatoes we all are, compared with what we might be!