If there was any petting to be done...he chose to do it. Often he would sit looking at me, and then, moved by a delicate affection, come and pull at my coat and sleeve until he could touch my face with his nose, and then go away contented.

Each age has its choice of the death it will die.

How many wars have been caused by fits of indigestion, and how many more dynasties have been upset by the love of woman than by the hate of man?

To poke a wood fire is more solid enjoyment than almost anything else in the world.

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

You want to hate somebody, if you can, just to keep your powers of discrimination bright, and to save yourself from becoming a mere mush of good-nature.

The man who has planted a garden feels that he has done something for the good of the world.