We Were Not Meant To Mask Ourselves

The Beauty Of Work Depends Upon The Way We Meet It — Whether We Arm Ourselves Each Morning To Attack It As An Enemy That Must Be Vanquished Before Night Comes, Or Whether We Open Our Eyes With The Sunrise To Welcome It As An Approaching Friend.

A Journal Of The 'subjective' Kind I Have Always Thought Foolish, As Nurturing A Morbid Self -consciousness In The Writer; And Yet, Alone So Much As I Am, It Is Well To Have Some Sort Of A Ventilator From The Interior.

I Remember How Beautiful The Merrimac Looked To Me In Childhood, The First True River I Ever Knew; It Opened Upon My Sight And Wound Its Way Through My Heart Like A Dream Realized; Its Harebells, Its Rocks, And Its Rapids, Are Far More Fixed In My Memory Than Anything About The Sea.

Like A Plant That Starts Up In Showers And Sunshine And Does Not Know Which Has Best Helped It To Grow, It Is Difficult To Say Whether The Hard Things Or The Pleasant Things Did Me The Most Good.

Rich Or Poor, Every Child Comes Into The World With Some Imperative Need Of Its Own, Which Shapes Its Individuality.