New York! I've Always Wanted To See

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. . . .

She Had Had The Pain; It Had Been Like Being Boiled Alive In Scalding Oil And Not Being Able To Die To Get Free Of It

Because The Child Must Have A Valuable Thing Which Is Called Imagination. The Child Must Have A Secret World In Which Live Things That Never Were. It Is Necessary That She Believe. She Must Start Out Believing In Things Not Of This World. Then When The World Becomes Too Ugly For Living In, The Child Can Reach Back And Live In Her Imagination.

It's Come At Last", She Thought, "the Time When You Can No Longer Stand Between Your Children And Heartache.

I Came To A Clear Conclusion, And It Is A Universal One: To Live, To Struggle, To Be In Love With Life--in Love With All Life Holds, Joyful Or Sorrowful--is Fulfillment. The Fullness Of Life Is Open To All Of Us.