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.

Happy is the person who can keep a quiet heart, in the chaos and tumult of this modern world.

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

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

Forget the times of trouble, but not the truths they taught. Forget the days of sorrow, but not the strength they brought. Forget the storms you battled through beneath a heavy load - but not the light that led you safely down the unknown road.

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

The trees change their voices in autumn as well as their shapes. No longer do they whisper to one another in muffled tones as they did in summer; they talk in a different leaf-language now. The wind moves through the boughs like fingers drawn across the strings of a harp filling the air with the harsh dry sound of sapless leaves. It is the main theme of the autumn music, this murmuring counterpoint of dead leaves.