Where once stood the steadfast pines, great, beautiful, sweet, my hand touched raw, moist stumps. All about lay broken branches, like the antlers of stricken deer. The fragrant, piled-up sawdust swirled and tumbled about me. An unreasoning resentment flashed through me at the ruthless destruction of the beauty that I love.

To me a lush carpet of pine needles or spongy grass is more welcome than the most luxurious Persian rug.

Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than exposure.

Happiness is like the mountain summit. It is sometimes hidden by clouds, but we know it is there.

The test of all beliefs is their practical effect in life. If it be true that optimism compels the world forward, and pessimism retards it, then it is dangerous to propagate a pessimistic philosophy.

I, who cannot see, find hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch. I feel the delicate symmetry of a leaf. I pass my hands lovingly about the smooth skin of a silver birch, or the rough shaggy bark of a pine.

Be happy, talk happiness. Happiness calls out responsive gladness in others. There is enough sadness in the world without yours.