• Love is not a hot-house flower, but a wild plant, born of a wet night, born of an hour of sunshine; sprung from wild seed, blown along the road by a wild wind. A wild plant that, when it blooms by chance within the hedge of our gardens, we call a flower; and when it blooms outside we call a weed; but, flower or weed, whose scent and colour are always, wild!

    John Galsworthy (2011). “The Forsyte Saga 1: The Man of Property: The Forsyte Saga: Book One”, p.107, Hachette UK