There's no beginning to the farmer's year, / Only recurrent patterns on a scroll / Unwinding...

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.

It is necessary to write, if the days are not to slip emptily by. How else, indeed, to clap the net over the butterfly of the moment? For the moment passes, it is forgotten; the mood is gone; life itself is gone. That is where the writer scores over his fellows: he catches the changes of his mind on the hop.

Summer makes a silence after spring.

It isn't that I don't like sweet disorder, but it has to be judiciously arranged.

It is no good my telling you. One never believes other people's experiencem and one is only very gradually convinced by one's own.

A good start in life is as important to plants as it is to children: they must develop strong roots in a congenial soil, otherwise they will never make the growth that will serve them richly according to their needs in their adult life.