From Stillmeadow and Sugarbridge, 1953
As I sweep the snow from the door sill, I think if we could gather up all the happy hours of a year and distill them, we would have Heaven. If we added the dreary and sad times, we would no doubt, have a good foretaste of a lower region.
The bright and the dark are so inseparable.
Every life, I think, has a burden of sorrow, and every life has also the delicate excitement of happiness. Cherishing the golden hours and forgetting the black ones probably make for a happy person, the fulfilled life.
As the old year vanishes into the land that no one can ever visit again, I can see the New Year coming with a pale pure fire into the old darkness of the night sky.
I always hope I can meet the tomorrows with more strength, more courage and more love than I have ever met the past with.
The snow has stopped. The stars are shining.