Bad Quarrels Come When Two People Are

People Always Think That Happiness Is A Faraway Thing … Something Complicated And Hard To Get. Yet, What Little Things Can Make It Up.

There's A Tree That Grows In Brooklyn. Some People Call It The Tree Of Heaven. No Matter Where Its Seed Falls, It Makes A Tree Which Struggles To Reach The Sky. It Grows In Boarded-up Lots And Out Of Neglected Rubbish Heaps. It Grows Up Out Of Cellar Gratings. It Is The Only Tree That Grows Out Of Cement. It Grows Lushly . . . Survives Without Sun, Water, And Seemingly Without Earth. It Would Be Considered Beautiful Except That There Are Too Many Of It.

All My Life I've Been Lonely. I've Been Lonely At Crowded Parties. I've Been Lonely In The Middle Of Kissing A Girl And I've Been Lonely At Camp With Hundreds Of Fellows Around. But Now I'm Not Lonely Any More.

Yes, When I Get Big And Have My Own Home, No Plush Chairs And Lace Curtains For Me. And No Rubber Plants. I'll Have A Desk Like This In My Parlor And White Walls And A Clean Green Blotter Every Saturday Night And A Row Of Shining Yellow Pencils Always Sharpened For Writing And A Golden-brown Bowl With A Flower Or Some Leaves Or Berries Always In It And Books . . . Books . . . Books. . . .

A Lie Was Something You Told Because You Were Mean Or A Coward. A Story Was Something You Made Up Out Of Something That Might Have Happened. Only You Didn't Tell It Like It Was, You Told It Like You Thought It Should Have Been.