There Had To Be Dark And Muddy

The Library Was A Little Old Shaby Place. Francie Thought It Was Beautiful. The Feeling She Had About It Was As Good As The Feeling She Had About Church. She Pushed Open The Door And Went In. She Liked The Cmbined Smell Of Worn Leather Bindings, Library Past And Freshly Inked Stamping Pads Better Than She Liked The Smell Of Burning Incense At High Mass.

Mother, I Am Young. Mother, I Am Just Eighteen. I Am Strong. I Will Work Hard, Mother. But I Do Not Want This Child To Grow Up Just To Work Hard. What Must I Do, Mother, What Must I Do To Make A Different World For Her? How Do I Start?" "the Secret Lies In The Reading And The Writing. You Are Able To Read. Every Day You Must Read One Page From Some Good Book To Your Child. Every Day This Must Be Until The Child Learns To Read. Then She Must Read Every Day, I Know This Is The Secret

In Teaching Your Child, Do Not Forget That Suffering Is Good Too. It Makes A Person Rich In Character.

Dear God," She Prayed, "let Me Be Something Every Minute Of Every Hour Of My Life. Let Me Be Gay; Let Me Be Sad. Let Me Be Cold; Let Me Be Warm. Let Me Be Hungry...have Too Much To Eat. Let Me Be Ragged Or Well Dressed. Let Me Be Sincere - Be Deceitful. Let Me Be Truthful; Let Me Be A Liar. Let Me Be Honorable And Let Me Sin. Only Let Me Be Something Every Blessed Minute. And When I Sleep, Let Me Dream All The Time So That Not One Little Piece Of Living Is Ever Lost.

There's A Tree That Grows In Brooklyn. Some People Call It The Tree Of Heaven. No Matter Where Its Seed Falls, It Makes A Tree Which Struggles To Reach The Sky. It Grows In Boarded-up Lots And Out Of Neglected Rubbish Heaps. It Grows Up Out Of Cellar Gratings. It Is The Only Tree That Grows Out Of Cement. It Grows Lushly . . . Survives Without Sun, Water, And Seemingly Without Earth. It Would Be Considered Beautiful Except That There Are Too Many Of It.