My Books Were Always Full Of Ink

My Books Were Always Full Of Ink Blots, Always Stained And Covered With Smeared Sketches And Pictures, Which One Draws Idly When His Attention Wanders From His Task.

I Still Held Fast To My Determination To Become A Minister; It Still Seemed To Me That That Was My Duty. I Had Pledged Myself, In My Prayers I Had Given My Word To God. How Could I Therefore Break My Vow?

My Sister And My Brother, Of Whom I Have Not Spoken Before, Were Considerably Older Than I; It Seemed Almost As If We Belonged To Different Generations.

The Moon Of A Bright Silver, Which Dazzles By Its Shining, Illumines A World Which Surely Is No Longer Ours; For It Resembles In Nothing What May Be Seen In Other Lands.

But It Is True That Sometimes An Enveloping Darkness Aids One To Clearer Vision; As In A Panorama Building, For Example, Where The Obscurity About The Entrance Prepares One Better For The Climax, And Gives The Scene Depicted A More Real And Vivid Appearance.