The trouble with gardening is that is does not remain an avocation. It becomes an obsession.

God know that a mother need fortitude and courage and tolerance and flexibility and patience and firmness and nearly every other brave aspect of the human soul.

Ah! some love Paris, / And some Purdue. / But love is an archer with a low I.Q. / A bold, bad bowman, and innocent of pity. / So I'm in love with / New York City.

Words can sting like anything, but silence breaks the heart.

A bit of trash now and then is good for the severest reader. It provides the necessary roughage in the literary diet.

Praise is warming and desirable. But it is an earned thing. It has to be deserved, like a hug from a child.

The ability to forget a sorrow is childhood's most enchanting feature.