But green fingers are the extensions of a verdant heart. A good garden cannot be made by somebody who has not developed the capacity to know and love growing things. But there should be encouragement, and a free genial atmosphere for those of more timid sort, fair play for each in its own kind. The secret of improved plant breeding, apart from scientific knowledge, is love. A seed hidden in the heart of an apple is an orchard invisible.
Perennials sleep the first year, they creep the second year, and they leap the third year.
In a few years, man can achieve what Nature, in her laziness, fails to produce over centuries. There's no doubt about it - gardeners are the only true artists these days. All of us can understand failure, we all contain failure and death within us, but not even the successful man can begin to describe the impalpable elations and apprehensions of growth. It is exactly as though your were to cut off your wife's leg, stick it in the lawn, and be greeted on the following day by an entirely new woman, sprung from the leg, advancing across the lawn to meet you. Surely, your would be surprised if, having snipped off your little finger, and pushed it into a flower pot, you were to find a miniature edition of yourself in the flower pot a day later.