I love spring anywhere, but if I could choose I would always greet in a garden.

You know how some people seem to think that their love for classical music makes them spiritual or at least something quite special? And others who think you are a monster if you don't 'love children,' however obnoxious the children may be? Well, I found out that many people who love flowers look down on those who don't.

Only in the winter, in the country, can you have longer quiet stretches when you can savor belonging to yourself.

Working in the garden gives me something beyond the enjoyment of the senses. It gives me a profound feeling of inner peace.

Working in the garden . . . gives me a profound feeling of inner peace. Nothing here is in a hurry. There is no rush toward accomplishment, no blowing of trumpets. Here is the great mystery of life and growth. Everything is changing, growing, aiming at something, but silently, unboastfully, taking its time.

Farmers are philosophical; they have learned that it is less wearing to shrug than to beat their breasts. But there is another angle to their attitude. Things happen rapidly in the country; something new always comes along to divert them and it isn't necessarily another calamity.

The central paradox and challenge of marriage is that we have to make family out of someone we're not related to.