We are perverse creatures and never satisfied.

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

The hardest of all is learning to be a well of affection, and not a fountain, to show them that we love them, not when we feel like it, but when they do.

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

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

children are not undeveloped versions of adult people: they are a different race of beings: they are children.

the urgent crowds out the essential.