Smell Is A Fallen Angel.

Friends Create The World Anew Each Day. Without Their Loving Care, Courage Would Not Suffice To Keep Heartsstrong For Life.

So Much Has Been Given Me I Have No Time To Ponder Over That Which Has Been Denied.

Trying To Write Is Very Much Like Trying To Put A Chinese Puzzle Together. We Have A Pattern In Mind Which We Wish To Work Out In Words; But The Words Will Not Fit The Spaces, Or, If They Do, They Will Not Match The Design.

The Hands Of Those I Meet Are Dumbly Eloquent To Me. The Touch Of Some Hands Is An Impertinence. I Have Met People So Empty Of Joy, That When I Clasped Their Frosty Finger-tips, It Seemed As If I Were Shaking Hands With A Northeast Storm. Others There Are Whose Hands Have Sunbeams In Them, So That Their Grasp Warms My Heart. It May Be Only The Clinging Touch Of A Child's Hand; But There Is As Much Potential Sunshine In It For Me As There Is In A Loving Glance For Others. A Hearty Handshake Or A Friendly Letter Gives Me Genuine Pleasure.

Now, However, I See The Folly Of Attempting To Hitch One's Wagon To A Star With A Harness That Does Not Belong To It.