Is Love The Sweetness Of

Where Once Stood The Steadfast Pines, Great, Beautiful, Sweet, My Hand Touched Raw, Moist Stumps. All About Lay Broken Branches, Like The Antlers Of Stricken Deer. The Fragrant, Piled-up Sawdust Swirled And Tumbled About Me. An Unreasoning Resentment Flashed Through Me At The Ruthless Destruction Of The Beauty That I Love.

For, After All, Every One Who Wishes To Gain True Knowledge Must Climb The Hill Difficulty Alone, And Since There Is No Royal Road To The Summit, I Must Zigzag It In My Own Way. I Slip Back Many Times, I Fall, I Stand Still, I Run Against The Edge Of Hidden Obstacles, I Lose My Temper And Find It Again And Keep It Better, I Trudge On, I Gain A Little, I Feel Encouraged, I Get More Eager And Climb Higher And Begin To See The Widening Horizon. Every Struggle Is A Victory. One More Effort And I Reach The Luminous Cloud, The Blue Depths Of The Sky, The Uplands Of My Desire.

Truly I Have Looked In The Very Heart Of Darkness And Refused To Yield To Its Paralyzing Influence, But In Spirit I Am One Of Those Who Walk The Morning.

Museums And Art Stores Are Also Sources Of Pleasure And Inspiration. Doubtless It Will Seem Strange To Many That The Hand Unaided By Sight Can Feel Action, Sentiment, Beauty In The Cold Marble; And Yet It Is True That I Derive Genuine Pleasure From Touching Great Works Of Art. As My Finger Tips Trace Line And Curve, They Discover The Thought And Emotion Which The Artist Has Portrayed.

The Power Of Effecting Changes For The Better Is Within Ourselves, Not In The Favorableness Of Circumstances.