Tears Are Summer Showers To The Soul.

Thought, Stumbling, Plods Past Fallen Temples, Vanished Gods, Altars Unincensed, Fanes Undecked, Eternal Systems Flown Or Wrecked; Through Trackless Centuries That Grant To The Poor Trudge Refreshment Scant, Age After Age, Pants On To Find A Melting Mirage Of The Mind.

The Glory Of Gardening: Hands In The Dirt, Head In The Sun, Heart With Nature. To Nurture A Garden Is To Feed Not Just On The Body, But The Soul. Share The Botanical Bliss Of Gardeners Through The Ages, Who Have Cultivated Philosophies To Apply To Their Own - And Our Own - Lives: Show Me Your Garden And I Shall Tell You What You Are.

A Garden That One Makes Oneself Becomes Associated With One’s Personal History And That Of One’s Friends, Interwoven With One’s Tastes, Preferences And Character And Constitutes A Sort Of Unwritten Autobiography.

Doth Nature Draw Me, 'tis Because, Unto My Seeming, There Doth Lurk A Lawlessness About Her Laws, More Mood Than Purpose In Her Work.

No One Can Rightly Call His Garden His Own Unless He Himself Made It.