My Friends Have Made The

Every Modern War Has Had Its Roots In Exploitation.

Happiness Cannot Come From Without. It Must Come From Within. It Is Not What We See And Touch Or That Which Others Do For Us Which Makes Us Happy; It Is That Which We Think And Feel And Do, First For The Other Fellow And Then For Ourselves.

Once I Knew The Depth Where No Hope Was And Darkness Lay On The Face Of All Things. Then Love Came And Set My Soul Free. Once I Fretted And Beat Myself Against The Wall That Shut Me In. My Life Was Without A Past Or Future, And Death A Consummation Devoutly To Be Wished. But A Little Word From The Fingers Of Another Fell Into My Hands That Clutched At Emptiness, And My Heart Leaped Up With The Rapture Of Living. I Do Not Know The Meaning Of The Darkness, But I Have Learned The Overcoming Of It.

In A Word, Literature Is My Utopia. Here I Am Not Disfranchised. No Barrier Of The Senses Shuts Me Out From The Sweet, Gracious Discourse Of My Book-friends. They Talk To Me Without Embarrassment Or Awkwardness. The Things I Have Learned And The Things I Have Been Taught Seem Of Ridiculously Little Importance Compared With Their "large Loves And Heavenly Charities.

Instead Of Being Satisfied To Alleviate Suffering, We Shall Labor Hard And Continually To Prevent It.