In Winter, When The Dismal Rain Comes

A Brave Soul Is A Thing Which All Things Serve.

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

My Friend Is Not Perfect-no More Than I Am-and So We Suit Each Other Admirable.

Fame Is But An Inscription On A Grave, And Glory The Melancholy Blazon On A Coffin Lid.

I Go Into My Library, And All History Unrolls Before Me. I Breathe The Morning Air Of The World While The Scent Of Eden's Roses Yet Lingered In It, While It Vibrated Only To The World's First Brood Of Nightingales, And To The Laugh Of Eve. I See The Pyramids Building; I Hear The Shoutings Of The Armies Of Alexander.