Love is not a hot-house flower, but a wild plant, born of a wet night, born of an hour of sunshine; sprung from wild seed, blown along the road by a wild wind. A wild plant that, when it blooms by chance within the hedge of our gardens, we call a flower; and when it blooms outside we call a weed; but, flower or weed, whose scent and colour are always, wild!
John GalsworthyAbout author
- Author's profession: Author, Writer
- Nationality: english
- Born: August 14, 1867
- Died: January 31, 1933