I am writing in the garden. To write as one should of a garden one must not write outside it or merely somewhere near it, but in the garden. – Frances Hodgson Burnett (1849–1924), In the Garden, published posthumously
By the time one is eighty, it is said, there is no longer a tug of war in the garden with the May flowers hauling like mad against the claims of the other months. All is at last in balance and all is serene. The gardener is usually dead, of course. – Henry Mitchell, The Essential Earthman, 1981

