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I think it surprises a lot of people that I'm still around, you know, still - that I'm not pushing up daisies, as they say.

Those fields of daisies we landed on, and dusty fields and desert stretches. Memories of many skies and earths beneath us - many days, many nights of stars.

Deep in their roots, all flowers keep the light.

Flowers are happy things.

Wild flowers grow where they will.

The lovely daisy, so justly celebrated by European poets, is not a native of our soil; we know it well, however, by cultivation in our gardens and green houses; besides, we are disposed to remember it for the sake of those who have sung its praises in immortal verse.

The earth laughs in flowers.

To me, flowers are happiness.

Flowers grow out of dark moments.

What sunshine is to flowers, smiles are to humanity. These are but trifles, to be sure; but scattered along life's pathway, the good they do is inconceivable.