Whoever Claims To Understand Another Person Completely,

I Regard A Love For Poetry As One Of The Most Needful And Helpful Elements In The Life-outfit Of A Human Being. It Was The Greatest Of Blessings To Me, In The Long Days Of Toil To Which I Was Shut In Much Earlier Than Most Young Girls Are, That The Poetry I Held In My Memory Breathed Its Enchanted Atmosphere Through Me And Around Me, And Touched Even Dull Drudgery With Its Sunshine.

The True Idea Of A Church Has Not Yet Been Shown The World, A Visible Church, I Mean, Unless It Was In The Very Earliest Times; Yes, The Twelve Disciples Bound To Their Lord In Love, To Do His Work Forever, That Was A Church, A Christian Family.

The Peach-bud Glows, The Wild Bee Hums, And Wind-flowers Wave In Graceful Gladness.

Whether Rich Or Poor, A Home Is Not A Home Unless The Roots Of Love Are Ever Striking Deeper Through The Crust Of The Earthly And The Conventional, Into The Very Realities Of Being, Not Consciously Always; Seldom, Perhaps; The Simplicity Of Loving Grows By Living Simply Near Nature And God.

My 'must-have' Was Poetry. From The First, Life Meant That To Me. And, Fortunately, Poetry Is Not Purchasable Material, But An Atmosphere In Which Every Life May Expand. I Found It Everywhere About Me.