The Children Of Warriors In Our Country

I Only Hope To Do Well Enough Before I Die To Have A House As Big As My Rich Uncle Ed And Aunt Carole.

Mama Always Taught Her Children That Words Were Pretty, But Anyone Can Talk. She Said, Pay Attention To That Man Or Woman Who Acted, Who Did, Who Performed. She Taught Us To Trust In Thing We Could See, Not That We Heard.

Her Library Would Have Been Valuable To A Bibliophile Except She Treated Her Books Execrably. I Would Rarely Open A Volume That She Had Not Desecrated By Underlining Her Favorite Sections With A Ball-point Pen. Once I Had Told Her That I Would Rather See A Museum Bombed Than A Book Underlined, But She Dismissed My Argument As Mere Sentimentality. She Marked Her Books So That Stunning Images And Ideas Would Not Be Lost To Her.

... The Wing Of A Fly Is Proof Enough Of The Existence Of God For Me.

Teach Them The Quiet Words Of Kindness, To Live Beyond Themselves. Urge Them Toward Excellence, Drive Them Toward Gentleness, Pull Them Deep Into Yourself, Pull Them Upward Toward Manhood, But Softly Like An Angel Arranging Clouds. Let Your Spirit Move Through Them Softly.