Oh, I Wish I Was Young Again

The World Was Hers For The Reading.

People Looking Up At Her--at Her Smooth Pretty Vivacious Face--had No Way Of Knowing About The Painfully Articulated Resolves Formulating In Her Mind.

You Won't Die, Francie. You Were Born To Lick This Rotten Life.

She Was Made Up Of More, Too. She Was The Books She Read In The Library. She Was The Flower In The Brown Bowl. Part Of Her Life Was Made From The Tree Growing Rankly In The Yard. She Was The Bitter Quarrels She Had With Her Brother Whom She Loved Dearly. She Was Katie's Secret, Despairing Weeping. She Was The Shame Of Her Father Stumbling Home Drunk. She Was All Of These Things And Of Something More...it Was What God Or Whatever Is His Equivalent Puts Into Each Soul That Is Given Life - The One Different Thing Such As That Which Makes No Two Fingerprints On The Face Of The Earth Alike.

People Always Think That Happiness Is A Faraway Thing," Thought Francie, "something Complicated And Hard To Get. Yet, What Little Things Can Make It Up; A Place Of Shelter When It Rains - A Cup Of Strong Hot Coffee When You're Blue; For A Man, A Cigarette For Contentment; A Book To Read When You're Alone - Just To Be With Someone You Love. Those Things Make Happiness.