He Who Plants A Tree, Plants A

A Complete Autobiography Would Indeed Be A Picture Of The Outer And Inner Universe Photographed Upon One Little Life's Consciousness. For Does Not The Whole World, Seen And Unseen, Go To The Making Up Of Every Human Being?

Whoever Claims To Understand Another Person Completely, Is Either Entirely Ignorant Of Himself, Or Else Has A Nature So Small That He Can Measure It Easily, And Supposes It To Be The Standard Of Every Other Nature.

The Whole World Of Thought Lay Unexplored Before Me, - A World Of Which I Had Already Caught Large And Tempting Glimpses.

The Religion Of Our Fathers Overhung Us Children Like The Shadow Of A Mighty Tree Against The Trunk Of Which We Rested, While We Looked Up In Wonder Through The Great Boughs That Half Hid And Half Revealed The Sky. Some Of The Boughs Were Already Decaying, So That Perhaps We Began To See A Little More Of The Sky Than Our Elders; But The Tree Was Sound At Its Heart.

A Tattered Copy Of Johnson's Large Dictionary Was A Great Delight To Me, On Account Of The Specimens Of English Versifications Which I Found In The Introduction. I Learned Them As If They Were So Many Poems. I Used To Keep This Old Volume Close To My Pillow; And I Amused Myself When I Awoke In The Morning By Reciting Its Jingling Contrasts Of Iambic And Trochaic And Dactylic Metre, And Thinking What A Charming Occupation It Must Be To "make Up" Verses.