After His Death The Gardener Does Not

While We Only Look At Nature It Is Fair To Say That Autumn Is The End Of The Year; But It Is Still More True That Autumn Is The Beginning Of The Year.... Autumn Is The Time When In Fact The Leaves Bud. Leaves Wither Because Winter Begins; But They Also Wither Because Spring Is Already Beginning, Because New Buds Are Being Made, As Tiny As Percussion Caps Out Of Which The Spring Will Crack.... It Is Only An Optical Illusion That My Flowers Die In Autumn; For In Reality They Are Born.

I Find That A Real Gardener Is Not A Man Who Cultivates Flowers; He Is A Man Who Cultivates The Soil. He Is A Creature Who Digs Himself Into The Earth And Leaves The Sight Of What Is On It To Us Gaping Good-for-nothings. He Lives Buried In The Ground. He Builds His Monument In A Heap Of Compost. If He Came Into The Garden Of Eden, He Would Sniff Excitedly And Say: "good Lord, What Humus!"

Among Human Beings, A Cat Is Merely A Cat; Among Cats, A Cat Is A Prowling Shadow In A Jungle.

I Think I Am Slowly Becoming An Anarchist, That This Is Only Another Label For My Privateness, And I Think That You Will Understand This In The Sense Of Being Against Collectivity.

Art Must Not Serve Might.