It has been said that the only reason for leaving England is to give yourself the pleasure of coming back to it.

While it is February one can taste the full joys of anticipation. Spring stands at the gate with her finger on the latch.

I thought I had finished with romantic adventures, but half-way through life and well past the age for losing one's heart, I was suddenly swept off my feet by a new love, a passionate, tyrannical, all-absorbing emotion: the love of a garden.

Every noble achievement is a dream before it is a reality just as the oak is an acorn before it is a tree.

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.

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

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?