Our Worst Foes Are Not

The Most Important Day I Remember In All My Life Is The One On Which My Teacher, Anne Mansfield Sullivan, Came To Me. I Am Filled With Wonder When I Consider The Immeasurable Contrasts Between The Two Lives Which It Connects. It Was The Third Of March, 1887, Three Months Before I Was Seven Years Old.

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.

There Is Joy In Self-forgetfulness. So I Try To Make The Light In Others' Eyes My Sun, The Music In Others' Ears My Symphony, The Smile On Others' Lips My Happiness.

For My Part, I Wish, With Mr. Howells, That The Literature Of The Past Might Be Purged Of All That Is Ugly And Barbarous In It, Although I Should Object As Much As Any One To Having These Great Works Weakened Or Falsified.

I Prefer To Stroll Which Has A Buddy At Nighttime, Than By Itself Inside The Light.