We Might All Place Ourselves In One

Every True Friend Is A Glimpse Of God.

When I Heard That There Were Artists, I Wished I Could Some Time Be One. If I Could Only Make A Rose Bloom On Paper, I Thought I Should Be Happy! Or If I Could At Last Succeed In Drawing The Outline Of Winter-stripped Boughs As I Saw Them Against The Sky, It Seemed To Me That I Should Be Willing To Spend Years In Trying.

I Defied The Machinery To Make Me Its Slave. Its Incessant Discords Could Not Drown The Music Of My Thoughts If I Would Let Them Fly High Enough.

It Is One Of The Most Beautiful Facts In This Human Existence Of Ours, That We Remember The Earliest And Freshest Part Of It Most Vividly. Doubtless It Was Meant That Our Childhood Should Live On In Us Forever.

The Children With The Streamlets Sing, When April Stops At Last Her Weeping; And Every Happy Growing Thing Laughs Like A Babe Just Roused From Sleeping.