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

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.

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

Success and failure, triumph and disaster. That is the rhythm of life in the garden.

Winter sunshine is a fairy wand touching everything with a strange magic. It is like the smile of a friend in time of sorrow.

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.