Still, No Gardener Would Be A Gardener

When, And How, And At What Stage Of Our Development Did Spirituality And Our Strange Notions Of Religion Arise? The Need For Worship Which Is Nothing More Than Our Frightened Refuge Into Propitiation Of A Creator We Do Not Understand? A Detective Story, The Supreme Who-done-it, Written In Indecipherable Hieroglyphics, No Rosetta Stone Supplied By The Consummate Mystifier To Tease Us Poor Fumbling Unravellers Of His Plot.

How Subtle Is The Relationship Between The Traveler And His Luggage! He Knows, As No One Else Knows, Its Idiosyncrasies, Its Contents ... And Always Some Small Nuisance Which He Wishes He Had Not Brought; Had Known, Indeed, Before Starting That He Would Regret It, But Brought It All The Same.

Gardening Is A Luxury Occupation: An Ornament, Not A Necessity, Of Life.... Fortunate Gardener, Who May Preoccupy Himself Solely With Beauty In These Difficult And Ugly Days! He Is One Of The Few People Left In This Distressful World To Carry On The Tradition Of Elegance And Charm. A Useless Member Of Society, Considered In Terms Of Economics, He Must Not Be Denied His Rightful Place. He Deserves To Share It, However Humbly, With The Painter And Poet.

All Craftsmen Share A Knowledge. They Have Heldreality Down Fluttering To A Bench.

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.