To Dispair Is To Turn Your Back

I Am Quite Likely To Re-act To The Opposite Extreme - To Feel Rapturously That The World Is Beautiful And Mere Existence Something To Thank God For. I Suppose Our 'blues' Are The Price We Have To Pay For Our Temperament. 'the Gods Don't Allow Us To Be In Their Debt.' They Give Us Sensitiveness To Beauty In All Its Forms But The Shadow Of The Gift Goes With It.

There Is No Use In Loving Things If You Have To Be Torn From Them, Is There? And It's So Hard To Keep From Loving Things, Isn't It?

Behind Them In The Garden The Little Stone House Brooded Among The Shadows. It Was Lonely But Not Forsaken. It Had Not Yet Done With Dreams And Laughter And The Joy Of Life; There Were To Be Future Summers For The Little Stone House; Meanwhile, It Could Wait. And Over The River In Purple Durance The Echoes Bided Their Time.

Anne Came Dancing Home In The Purple Winter Twilight Across The Snowy Places.

Valancy Herself Had Never Quite Relinquished A Certain Pitiful, Shamed, Little Hope That Romance Would Come Her Way Yet - Never, Until This Wet, Horrible Morning, When She Wakened To The Fact That She Was Twenty-nine And Unsought By Any Man. Ay, There Lay The Sting. Valancy Did Not Mind So Much Being An Old Maid. After All, She Thought, Being An Old Maid Couldn’t Possibly Be As Dreadful As Being Married To An Uncle Wellignton Or An Uncle Benjamin, Or Even An Uncle Herbert. What Hurt Her Was That She Had Never Had A Chance To Be Anything But An Old Maid.