Write A Little Every Day,

I Had A Farm In Africa, At The Foot Of The Ngong Hills.

During The First Quarter Of The Last Century, Seaside Resorts Became The Fashion, Even In Those Countries Of Northern Europe Within The Minds Of Whose People The Sea Had Hitherto Held The Role Of The Devil, The Cold And Voracious Hereditary Foe Of Humanity.

Difficult Times Have Helped Me To Understand Better Than Before, How Infinitely Rich And Beautiful Life Is In Every Way, And That So Many Things That One Goes Worrying About Are Of No Importance Whatsoever.

To Me, The Explanation Of Life Seems To Be Its Melody, Its Pattern. And I Feel In Life Such An Infinite, Truly Inconceivable Fantasy.

When We Are Young The Idea Of Death Or Failure Is Intolerable To Us; Even The Possibility Of Ridicule We Cannot Bear. But We Have Also An Unconquerable Faith In Our Own Stars, And In The Impossibility Of Anything Venturing To Go Against Us. As We Grow Old We Slowly Come To Believe That Everything Will Turn Out Badly For Us, And That Failure Is In The Nature Of Things, But Then We Do Not Much Mind What Happens To Us One Way Or The Other. In This Way A Balance Is Obtained.