People from a planet without flowers would think we must be mad with joy the whole time to have such things about us.

Nothing is so beautiful as spring - when weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush Thrush's eggs look little low heavens, and thrush through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring the ear, it strikes like lightning to hear him sing.

Let a hundred flowers bloom, let a hundred schools of thought contend.

Poor, dear, silly Spring, preparing her annual surprise!

Life has loveliness to sell, all beautiful and splendid things, blue waves whitened on a cliff, soaring fire that sways and sings, and children's faces looking up, holding wonder like a cup.