But you, oh gardener, poet that you be / Though unaware, now use your seeds like words / And make them lilt with color nicely flung.

how poor and disheartening a thing is experience compared with hope!

For bees are captious folk / And quick to turn against the lubber's touch.

Things were not tragic for us then, because although we cared passionately we didn't care deeply.

The wise traveler is he who is perpetually surprised.

Flowers really do intoxicate me.

Tools have their own integrity.