Love Is A Force. . . .

We Americans, With Our Terrific Emphasis On Youth, Action, And Material Success, Certainly Tend To Belittle The Afternoon Of Life And Even To Pretend It Never Comes. We Push The Clock Back And Try To Prolong The Morning, Over-reaching And Over-straining Ourselves In The Unnatural Effort. ... In Our Breathless Attempts We Often Miss The Flowering That Waits For Afternoon.

The Here, The Now, And The Individual, Have Always Been The Special Concern Of The Saint, The Artist, The Poet, And - From Time Immemorial - The Woman. In The Small Circle Of The Home She Has Never Quite Forgotten The Particular Uniqueness Of Each Member Of The Family; The Spontaneity Of Now; The Vividness Of Here. This Is The Basic Substance Of Life. These Are The Individual Elements That Form The Bigger Entities Like Mass, Future, World. We May Neglect These Elements, But We Cannot Dispense With Them. They Are The Drops That Make Up The Stream. They Are The Essence Of Life Itself.

The Nice Thing About Really Intelligent People Is That When You Talk With Them They Make You Feel Intelligent Too.

Perhaps Middle-age Is, Or Should Be, A Period Of Shedding Shells; The Shell Of Ambition, The Shell Of Material Accumulations And Possessions, The Shell Of The Ego.

People "died" All The Time. . . . Parts Of Them Died When They Made The Wrong Kinds Of Decisions-decisions Against Life. Sometimes They Died Bit By Bit Until Finally They Were Just Living Corpses Walking Around. If You Were Perceptive You Could See It In Their Eyes; The Fire Had Gone Out. . . You Always Knew When You Made A Decision Against Life. The Door Clicked And You Were Safe Inside-safe And Dead.