The World Was Hers For The Reading.

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.

No. I Don't Want To Need Anybody. I Want Someone To Need Me ... I Want Someone To Need Me.

No Matter Where Its Seed Fell, It Made A Tree Which Struggled To Reach The Sky. It Grew In Boarded-up Lots And Out Of Neglected Rubbish Heaps, And It Was The Only Tree That Grew Out Of Cement. It Grew Lushly, But Only In The Tenements Districts.... That Was The Kind Of Tree It Was. It Liked Poor People.

Occasionally There Is A Moment In A Person's Life When He Takes A Great Stride Forward In Wisdom, Humility, Or Disillusionment. For A Split Second He Comes Into A Kind Of Cosmic Understanding. For A Trembling Breath Of Time He Knows All There Is To Know. He Is Loaned The Gift The Poet Yearned For - Seeing Himself As Others See Him.

New York! I've Always Wanted To See It And Now I've See It. It's True What They Say-- It's The Most Wonderful City In The World.