Chapter III: Part II

"I never saw anything like the way a poppy lives with its heart and
soul every second of the day.

"It is the most joyful flower in the world. Not a joy of strength, for
it is fragile, but just sheer delight in existence and devil-may-care.
I would much rather have poppies on my coffin than stupid affected
lilies and white roses.

"Then the sheer cheek of a poppy, and the way it dies quickly,
without any bother, when picked! It is such a definite vivid thing,
whether it is braving the sun, or sleeping folded under the stars. A
wild, fresh individuality; not a banal neutral-tinted affair out of
the garden, or something with a smile on its face and a claw
underneath, like a rose."

(_Extract from a letter._)