How deeply seated in the human heart is the liking for gardens and gardening.
Your death and my death are mainly of importance to ourselves. The black plumes will be stripped off our hearses within the hour; tears will dry, hurt hearts close again, our graves grow level with the church-yard, and although we are away, the world wags on. It does not miss us; and those who are near us, when the first strangeness of vacancy wears off, will not miss us much either.
Good-humor and, generosity carry day with the popular heart all the world over.
My heart like moon-charmed waters, all unrest.
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