From Oscar Wilde's De Profundis:
"With freedom, flowers, books and the moon, who could not be perfectly happy?"
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"...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..."
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"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."
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