That is the stimulus of nature; it is never, never old, and always developing. Even the scarred, wrinkled earth herself is a mere infant among the old ladies and gentlemen that tread foot-paths in the sky.

Let everyone who makes garden plans frequently insert the letters C.P. in them as a reminder, the same standing for climate permitting.

Surely there is no greater garden for human-nature study than the flotsam and jetsam of the hospital.

even as human vitality is at its lowest ebb in the early morning, so it is with plant life in the early spring.

It doesn't so much matter what one loves. To love is the transfiguring thing.

it is really astonishing how few colors are inharmonious when they are profusely massed and have green for a background.

the various earth odors all have a separate tale to tell, and the leaf mold of the woods bears a wholly different fragrance from that of the soil under pasture turf, or the breath that the garden gives off in great sighs of relief when it is relaxed and refreshed by a summer shower.