Life Began For Me, When

An Artist's Saddest Secrets Are Those That Have To Do With His Artistry.

But She Still Had That Something Which Fires The Imagination, Could Still Stop One's Breath For A Moment By A Look Or Gesture That Somehow Revealed The Meaning In Common Things. She Had Only To Stand In The Orchard, To Put Her Hand On A Little Crab Tree And Look Up At The Apples, To Make You Feel The Goodness Of Planting And Tending And Harvesting At Last. All The Strong Things Of Her Heart Came Out In Her Body, That Had Been So Tireless In Serving Generous Emotions. It Was No Wonder That Her Sons Stood Tall And Straight. She Was A Rich Mine Of Life, Like The Founders Of Early Races.

Life Began For Me, When I Ceased To Admire And Began To Remember.

The "sayings" Of A Community, Its Proverbs, Are Its Characteristic Comment Upon Life; They Imply Its History, Suggest Its Attitude Toward The World And Its Way Of Accepting Life. Such An Idiom Makes The Finest Language Any Writer Can Have; And He Can Never Get It With A Notebook. He Himself Must Be Able To Think And Feel In That Speech - It Is A Gift From Heart To Heart.

Late One Brilliant April Afternoon Professor Lucius Wilson Stood At The Head Of Chestnut Street, Looking About Him With The Pleased Air Of A Man Of Taste Who Does Not Very Often Get To Boston.