Women, like men, ought to have their years so glutted with freedom that they hate the very idea of freedom.

I cannot abide the Mr. and Mrs. Noah attitude towards marriage; the animals went in two by two, forever stuck together with glue.

I just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way. Oh my dear, I can’t be clever and stand-offish with you: I love you too much for that. Too truly.You have no idea how stand-offish I can be with people I don’t love. I have brought it to a fine art. But you have broken down my defences. And I don’t really resent it.

One must be businesslike, although the glass is falling.

I do not like January very much. It is too stationary. Not enough happens. I like the evidences of life, and in January there are too few of them.

I like muddling things up; and if a herb looks nice in a border, then why not grow it there? Why not grow anything anywhere so long as it looks right where it is? That is, surely, the art of gardening.

Still, no gardener would be a gardener if he did not live in hope.