Write A Little Every Day, Without Hope,

Then Martine Said: "so Yuo Will Be Poor Now All Your Life, Babette?" Poor?" Said Babette. She Smiled As If To Herself. "no, I Shall Never Be Poor. I Told You That I Am A Great Artist. A Great Artist, Mesdames, Is Never Poor.we Have Something, Mesdames, Of Which Other People Know Nothing.

I Beg Of You, You Good People Who Want To Hear Stories Told: Look At This Page And Recognize The Wisdom Of My Grandmother And Of All Old Story-telling Women!

I Have Been Trying For A Long Time To Understand God. Now I Have Made Friends With Him. To Love Him Truly You Must Love Change, And You Must Love A Joke, These Being The True Inclinations Of His Own Heart.

If I Know A Song Of Africa, Of The Giraffe And The African New Moon Lying On Her Back, Of The Plows In The Fields And The Sweaty Faces Of The Coffee Pickers, Does Africa Know A Song Of Me? Will The Air Over The Plain Quiver With A Color That I Have Had On, Or The Children Invent A Game In Which My Name Is, Or The Full Moon Throw A Shadow Over The Gravel Of The Drive That Was Like Me, Or Will The Eagles Of The Ngong Hills Look Out For Me?

Here And There, In Some Older Houses, Old Faded Daguerreotypes Still Hang On The Walls... They Seem To Us To Be Very Simple... Compared With The Artistic And Skillful Portraits Made In Later Days... Here Was A Photograph That At One Time Had Been The Last Word, A Very Modern Portrait... Today It Is Just A Part Of Cultural History. The Small Yellowed Surface Has Acquired Depth, An Admonishing Perspective. We Hold In Our Hand A Symbol Of The Structure And Ideology Of An Epoch.