In looking back we remember only the triumphant consummations of each season. Failures and frustrations are forgotten; garden-memories are as perfect as garden-hopes.

Few would dispute with the rose her claim to be the queen of flowers, for where is her equal to be found? Is she not God’s masterpiece?

New words are always being born and old ones fading away.

Life is like a field, where we must gather what we grow, weed or wheat... this is the law, we reap the crop we sow.

If you want good roses, sharpen your knife and harden your heart.

September is the month of maturity; the heaped basket and the garnered sheaf. It is the month of climax and completion. September! I never tire of turning it over and over in my mind. It has warmth, depth and colour. It glows like old amber.

in February there is everything to hope for and nothing to regret.