We love those we are happy with. We do. For how else can we know we love them, or how else define loving?

We envy people we love for being always in their own loved company.

Summer weather, like being in love,is a philosopher's stone which turns our ordinary days to gold. But not the whole day ... For it is never the whole day, never all our life which is transformed in any happiness, but only the exquisite moments.

If you would be happy all your life, plant a garden.

The sorrows we imagine are more profound and inconsolable than real life leaves us time for.

Perhaps the way with any obsession is to ignore it simply. Not to fight it, since it draws strength from any contact with us, whether hostile or friendly.

A garden is one of the few expressions of man's nature that is altogether benign.