To Be Occasionally Quoted Is The Only

Sweet April's Tears, Dead On The Hem Of May.

How Deeply Seated In The Human Heart Is The Liking For Gardens And Gardening.

Style, After All, Rather Than Thought, Is The Immortal Thing In Literature.

Nature Never Quite Goes Along With Us. She Is Somber At Weddings, Sunny At Funerals, And She Frowns On Ninety-nine Out Of A Hundred Picnics.

Thoughts Must Come Naturally, Like Wild-flowers; They Cannot Be Forced In A Hot-bed, Even Although Aided By The Leaf-mould Of Your Past.