Here and there one sees the blush of wild rose haws or the warmth of orange fruit on the bittersweet, and back in the woods is the occasional twinkle of partridgeberries. But they are the gem stones, the rare decorations which make the grays, the browns and the greens seem even more quiet, more completely at rest.

Knowing trees, I understand the meaning of patience. Knowing grass, I can appreciate persistence.

In a painful time of my life I went often to a wooded hillside where May apples grew by the hundreds, and I thought the sourness of their fruit had a symbolism for me. Instead, I was to find both love and happiness soon thereafter. So to me [the May apple] is the mandrake, the love symbol, of the old dealers in plant restoratives.

Summer ends, and Autumn comes, and he who would have it otherwise would have high tide always and a full moon every night.

Two sounds of autumn are unmistakable...the hurrying rustle of crisp leaves blown along the street...by a gusty wind, and the gabble of a flock of migrating geese.

Each new season grows from the leftovers from the past. That is the essence of change and change is the basic law.

No winter lasts forever no spring skips its turn.

No Winter lasts forever no Spring skips its turn. April is a promise that May is bound to keep and we know it.

Summer ends and Autumn comes and he who would have it otherwise would have high tide always and a full moon every night.