I miss you even more than I could have believed; and I was prepared to miss you a good deal.

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

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

I suppose the pleasure of country life lies really in the eternally renewed evidences of the determination to live.

The farmer and the gardener are both busy, the gardener perhaps the more excitable of the two, for he is more of the amateur, concerned with the creation of beauty rather than with the providing of food. Gardening is a luxury occupation; an ornament, not a necessity, of life.

Travel is in sad case. It is uncomfortable, it is expensive; it is a source of annoyance to our friends, and of loneliness to ourselves.

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