Mother love is invariably held sacred, as it should be, but why has father love never had its due?

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

Why is it that so many people think that charity consists in giving away merely what they cannot use instead of the article the recipient needs?

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

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

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.

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