Goodness comes out of people who bask in the sun, as it does out of a sweet apple roasted before the fire.

If you do things by the job, you are perpetually driven: the hours are scourges. If you work by the hour, you gently sail on the stream of Time, which is always bearing you on to the haven of Pay, whether you make any effort, or not.

Blessed be agriculture! if one does not have too much of it.

Goodness comes out of people who bask in the sun, as it does out of a sweet apple roasted before the fire.

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.

Politics makes strange bedfellows.

Woman is perpetual revolution, and is that element in the world which continually destroys and recreates.