One Does Not Begin To Make A

There Is Great Satisfaction In A Well-made Clean Tool That Does Its Work Well.

I Do Not Yet Know Why Plants Come Out Of The Land Or Float In Streams, Or Creep On Rocks Or Roll From The Sea. I Am Entranced By The Mystery Of Them And Absorbed By Their Variety And Kinds. Everywhere, They Are Visible Yet Everywhere Occult.

Yesterday The Twig Was Brown And Bare; To-day The Glint Of Green Is There; Tomorrow Will Be Leaflets Spare; I Know No Thing So Wondrous Fair, No Miracle So Strangely Rare. I Wonder What Will Next Be There!

A Person Cannot Love A Plant After He Has Pruned It, Then He Has Either Done A Poor Job Or Is Devoid Of Emotion.

There Is No Excellence Without Labor. One Cannot Dream Oneself Into Either Usefulness Or Happiness.