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320 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1992
". . . I found myself not just tipping my toe into the current of the past but almost sinking into it over my head. When I walked down Whitehall, where Charles I, flawed but gallant, had been executed, or stood in the shadow of Donne's shrouded effigy in St. Paul's, or strolled the pleasure grounds at Hampton Court where Anne Boleyn had dallied with Henry VIII, I felt historical ghosts around me."
"The entire country vibrated with spirits, who glided through intervening years, decades, centuries, and even recorded history itself with an ease that astonished me. When I saw Stonehenge, it made me feel that England was a spiritual tuning fork, humming to all those distant vibrations."
My obsession with gardens developed over many years. On my first several visits to England, I noticed them, of course, because they burst from everywhere, from London parks to city window boxes to the doorsteps of tiny cottages. Staring out of a train window, I could see white and pink lupin, blue delphinium, and purple iris waving gaily in the backyards of the dreariest row houses. Almost everyone in England seemed to have a rosebush somewhere, gracefully bending over a front walk or climbing a trellis or rambling along a wall. At any great country house, I found a landscaped park or flowering terraces or enclosed gardens or perennial borders."
"What impressed me most about English gardens was thteir generosity of spirit, an exuberant lavishness that could not always be contained within the strict squares or rectangles."