Read, Every Day, Something No One Else

A Critic Is A Gong At A Railroad Crossing Clanging Loudly And Vainly As The Train Goes By.

Standing By The Crib Of One's Own Baby, With That World - Old Pang Of Compassion And Protectiveness Toward This So Little Creature That Has All Its Course To Run, The Heart Flies Back In Yearning And Gratitude To Those Who Felt Just So Toward One's Self. Then For The First Time One Understands The Homely Succession Of Sacrifices And Pains By Which Life Is Transmitted And Fostered Down The Stumbling Generations Of Men.

The Everlasting Lure Of Round-the-corner, How Fascinating It Is.

How Womanly It Is To Ask The Unanswerable At The Moment Impossible.

Read, Every Day, Something No One Else Is Reading. Think, Every Day, Something No One Else Is Thinking.