From Oscar Wilde's De Profundis:
"With freedom, flowers, books and the moon, who could not be perfectly happy?"
"...spring always seeming to one as if the flowers had been in hiding, and only came out into the sun because they were afraid that grown-up people would grow tired looking for them and give up the search..."
"To me it is so much so that at the close of each meal I carefully eat whatever crumbs may be left on my tin plate, or have fallen on the rough towel that one uses as a cloth so as not to soil one's table; and I do so not from hunger--I get now quite sufficient food--but simply in order that nothing should be wasted of what is given me. So one should look on love."