A Garden Is A Place

Let Us Be Honest: Most Of Us Rather Like Our Cats To Have A Streak Of Wickedness. I Should Not Feel Quite Easy In The Company Of Any Cat That Walked Around The House With A Saintly Expression.

A Gardener Is Never Shut Out From His Garden, Wherever He May Be. Its Comfort Never Fails. Though The City May Close About Him, And The Grime And Soot Descend Upon Him, He Can Still Wander In His Garden, Does He But Close His Eyes.

Do You Ever Find Yourself Bursting Into A Sort Of Lunatic Laughter At The Sheer Prettiness Of Things?

A Garden Without Cats, It Will Be Generally Agreed, Can Scarcely Deserve To Be Called A Garden At All...much Of The Magic Of The Heather Beds Would Vanish If, As We Bent Over Them, There Was No Chance That We Might Hear A Faint Rustle Among The Blossoms, And Find Ourselves Staring Into A Pair Of Sleepy Green Eyes.

Life In The Country Teaches One That The Really Stimulating Things Are The Quiet, Natural Things, And The Really Wearisome Things Are The Noisy, Unnatural Things. It Is More Exciting To Stand Still Than To Dance. Silence Is More Eloquent Than Speech. Water Is More Stimulating Than Wine. Fresh Air Is More Intoxicating Than Cigarette Smoke. Sunlight Is More Subtle Than Electric Light. The Scent Of Grass Is More Luxurious Than The Most Expensive Perfume. The Slow, Simple Observations Of The Peasant Are More Wise Than The Most Sparkling Epigrams Of The Latest Wit.