Art must not serve might.

My dear Miss Glory, Robots are not people. They are mechanically more perfect than we are, they have an astounding intellectual capacity, but they have no soul.

Much melancholy has devolved upon mankind, and it is detestable to me that might will triumph in the end...

I find that a real gardener is not a man who cultivates flowers; he is a man who cultivates the soil. He is a creature who digs himself into the earth and leaves the sight of what is on it to us gaping good-for-nothings. He lives buried in the ground. He builds his monument in a heap of compost. If he came into the Garden of Eden, he would sniff excitedly and say: "Good Lord, what humus!"

There came into the world an unlimited abundance of everything people need. But people need everything except unlimited abundance.

Great God of the Ants, thou hast granted victory to thy servants. I appoint thee honorary Colonel.

Let no one think that real gardening is a bucolic and meditative occupation. It is an insatiable passion, like everything else to which a man gives his heart.