We Betray Ourselves Into Smallness When We

It Has Been Said That Life Has Treated Me Harshly; And Sometimes I Have Complained In My Heart Because Many Pleasures Of Human Experience Have Been Withheld From Me...if Much Has Been Denied Me, Much, Very Much, Has Been Given Me.

Literature Is My Utopia. Here I Am Not Disenfranchised. No Barrier Of The Senses Shuts Me Out From The Sweet, Gracious Discourse Of My Book Friends. They Talk To Me Without Embarrassment Or Awkwardness.

For Three Things I Thank God Every Day Of My Life: Thanks That He Has Vouchsafed Me Knowledge Of His Works; Deep Thanks That He Has Set In My Darkness The Lamp Of Faith; Deep, Deepest Thanks That I Have Another Life To Look Forward To--a Life Joyous With Light And Flowers And Heavenly Song.

When One Reads Hurriedly And Nervously, Having In Mind Written Tests And Examinations, One's Brain Becomes Encumbered With A Lot Of Bric-a-brac For Which There Seems To Be Little Use.

The Hands Of Those I Meet Are Dumbly Eloquent To Me. The Touch Of Some Hands Is An Impertinence. I Have Met People So Empty Of Joy, That When I Clasped Their Frosty Finger-tips, It Seemed As If I Were Shaking Hands With A Northeast Storm. Others There Are Whose Hands Have Sunbeams In Them, So That Their Grasp Warms My Heart. It May Be Only The Clinging Touch Of A Child's Hand; But There Is As Much Potential Sunshine In It For Me As There Is In A Loving Glance For Others. A Hearty Handshake Or A Friendly Letter Gives Me Genuine Pleasure.