In a total work, the failures have their not unimportant place.

I long for the bulbs to arrive, for the early autumn chores are melancholy, but the planting of bulbs is the work of hope and is always thrilling.

We have to dare to be ourselves, however frightening or strange that self may prove to be.

Gardening gives one back a sense of proportion about everything - except itself.

over and over again I am struck by the wordiness of modern poetry, as if language had replaced experience and must be more and more extreme, intricate and in a way divorced from life itself. It seems as if what we all need is a great purification - but how will that come about?

The most valuable thing we can do for the psyche, occasionally, is to let it rest, wander, live in the changing light of room, not try to be or do anything whatever.

Flowers and plants are silent presences. They nourish every sense except the ear.