The Bright Incarnate Spirit Of The Morn.

There Is No Gardening Without Humility

If Nature Built By Rule And Square, Than Man What Wiser Would She Be? What Wins Us Is Her Careless Care, And Sweet Unpunctuality.

No One Can Rightly Call His Garden His Own Unless He Himself Made It.

Faded Smiles Oft Linger In The Face, While Grief's First Flakes Fall Silent On The Heart!

He Is Dead Already Who Doth Not Feel Life Is Worth Living Still.