Snowdrops: Theirs is a fragile but hardy celebration... in the very teeth of winter.

In his garden, every man may be his own artist without apology or explanation.

The gardens of my youth were fragrant gardens and it is their sweetness rather than their patterns of their furnishings that I now most clearly recall.

While working among the little plants of the far places of the world we forget the narrowness of our own orbit.

In his garden every man may be his own artist without apology or explanation. Here is one spot where each may experience the "romance of possibility".

To the landscape architect a rock garden... appears... the work of a lunatic.

He lacks much who has no aptitude for idleness.

Fiction is true. It doesn’t have to factual to be true.

Because ENOUGH is TOO MUCH!And look around ...can you blame us?!

When you healed this tree, I felt like the leaves waved and made gentle sounds. Maybe the tree was saying thank you.

Have you ever been at a point that you don't know what to say? But yet you came up with this crazy idea to type this.

The right of private judgment is absolute in every American citizen.

The despairing soul is a rebel.

From the subterranean ore of memory we extract the jeweled visions of our future.

I didn't have musical upbringing. I never listened to music growing up, thinking "I want to make my own music". I just listened to music for pleasure.

When you are in your worst moods. Wait. Be patient. The storm will pass. The spring will come

I have read in Plato and Cicero sayings that are wise and very beautiful; but I have never read in either of them: Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden.