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

The unmulched garden looks to me like some naked thing which for one reason or another would be better off with a few clothes on.

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.

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.

Why do people who like to get up early look with disdain on those who like to lie in bed late? And why do people who like to work feel superior to those who prefer to dream?

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