in the city at best one lives the life of others, the life of the shop, the street, the crowd, while in the country one must live one's own life.

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

I have always noticed that when people consider others eccentric, it is because they are reveling in some form of enjoyment that their critics can neither compass nor share.

what is life worth if one has nothing to give away? This lack, it seems to me, must be the sharpest pang of poverty.

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

Neither a garden nor a gardener can be made in one year, nor in one generation even.

Nature, when undisturbed, is never monotonous, you know. Even when using green, the most frequent color on her palette, she throws in contrasting tints by way of expression, and you will seldom see two sides of a leaf of the same hue, and the leaf stem frequently gives a good dash of bronze or purple.