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.

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

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.

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.

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

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.