I cannot abide the Mr. and Mrs. Noah attitude towards marriage; the animals went in two by two, forever stuck together with glue.
Nothing shows up the difference between the things said or read, so much as the daily experience of it.
For the last 40 years of my life I have broken my back, my fingernails, and sometimes my heart, in the practical pursuit of my favourite occupation.
Is it better to be extremely ambitious, or rather modest? Probably the latter is safer; but I hate safety, and would rather fail gloriously than dingily succeed.
There is always something else to do. A gardener should have nine times as many lives as a cat.
My garden all is overblown with roses,/ My spirit all is overblown with rhyme.
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.
The true solitary ... will feel that he is himself only when he is alone; when he is in company he will feel that he perjures himself, prostitutes himself to the exactions of others; he will feel that time spent in company is time lost; he will be conscious only of his impatience to get back to his true life.
A good start in life is as important to plants as it is to children: they must develop strong roots in a congenial soil, otherwise they will never make the growth that will serve them richly according to their needs in their adult life.
Every garden-maker should be an artist along his own lines. That is the only possible way to create a garden, irrespective of size or wealth.
Ambition, old as mankind, the immemorial weakness of the strong.
It is dreadful how I miss you, and everything that everybody says seems flat and stupid.
Autumn in felted slipper shuffles on, Muted yet fiery.--Vita Sackville-West
Prose is a poor thing, a poor inadequate thing, compared with poetry which says so much more in shorter time.
I do not like January very much. It is too stationary. Not enough happens. I like the evidences of life, and in January there are too few of them.
Women, like men, ought to have their years so glutted with freedom that they hate the very idea of freedom.
Serenity of spirit and turbulence of action should make up the sum of a man's life.
See the last orange roses, how they blow / Deeper and heavier than in their prime, / In one defiant flame before they go.
Forget not bees in winter, though they sleep.
Everywhere bees go racing with the hours, / For every bee becomes a drunken lover, / Standing upon his head to sup the flowers.
A man and his tools make a man and his trade.
The farmer and the gardener are both busy, the gardener perhaps the more excitable of the two, for he is more of the amateur, concerned with the creation of beauty rather than with the providing of food. Gardening is a luxury occupation; an ornament, not a necessity, of life.
April, the angel of the months, the young love of the year.
For a young man to start his career with a love affair with an older woman was quite de rigueur ... Of course, it must not go on for too long. An apprenticeship was a very different thing from a career.
I like owls. I admire their intransigent spirit. I have respected them deeply ever since I met a baby owl in a wood, when it fell over dead, apparently from sheer temper, because I dared to approach it. It defied me first, and then died. I have never forgotten the horror and shame I experienced when that soft fluffy thing (towards which I had nothing but the most humanitarian motives) fell dead from rage at my feet.
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