florilegium
Time is a wayward traveller, who sometimes rides post-haste through thick and thin, sometimes loiters on the road or falls asleep in the saddle, so that, fearing he is engulfed, we are half inclined to send with ropes and lanterns to drag him out of the deep miry ways: it is therefore not surprising if now and again the events of a century are crowded into the annals of one brief lifetime.
- As promising a beginning for a book on gardening as one could hope for; it is mentioned in passing in Cristina Campo’s The Unforgivable: And Other Writings, and I am glad I looked it up. [↩]