There is a stage with people we love when we are no longer separate from them, but so close in sympathy that we live through them as directly as through ourselves. ... we push back our hair because theirs is in their eyes.
We envy people we love for being always in their own loved company.
We are perverse creatures and never satisfied.
leisure is an attitude of mind, not simply remission of work.
A garden is one of the few expressions of man's nature that is altogether benign.
I have reached the stage now where luxury is not in fine possessions but in carefree possessions, and the greatest luxury of all would be the completely expendable.