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Thursday, May 01, 2003
Nice Quotes...

Man cannot live by incompetence alone.
Laurence J. Peter


Some people regard discipline as a chore. For me, it is a kind of order that sets me free to fly.
Julie Andrews 1935-, British Singer, Actress


We promise according to our hopes and perform according to our fears
Francois De La Rochefoucauld 1613-1680, French Classical Writer


If at first you don't succeed, take the tax loss.
Kirk Kirkpatrick Canadian Teacher, Track Athlete


A champion of the working man has never yet been known to die of overwork.
Robert Frost 1875-1963, American Poet


It is difficult to lay aside a confirmed passion.
Catullus BC 87-54, Roman Lyric Poet


Know, first, who you are, and then adorn yourself accordingly.
Epictetus 50-120, Stoic Philosopher


If a horse has four legs, and I'm riding it, I think I can win.
Angel Cordero Jr.


We must all obey the great law of change. It is the most powerful law of nature.
Edmund Burke 1729-1797, British Political Writer


Men & Women
When men and woman die, as poets sung, his heart's the last part moves, her last, the tongue.
Benjamin Franklin 1706-1790, American Scientist


The Cold Within

Six humans trapped by happenstance
In black and bitter cold.
Each one possessed a stick of wood,
Or so the story's told.

Their dying fire in need of logs,
The first woman held hers back
For on the faces around the fire,
She noticed one was black.

The next man looking cross the way
Saw one not of his church,
And couldn't bring himself to give
The fire his stick of birch.

The third man sat in tattered clothes;
He gave his coat a hitch.
Why should his log be put to use
To warm the idle rich?

The rich man just sat back and thought
Of the wealth he had in store.
And how to keep what he had earned
From the lazy poor.

The black man's face bespoke revenge
As the fire passed from his sight,
For all he saw in his stick of wood
Was a chance to spite the white.

And the last man of this forlorn group
Did naught except for gain.
Giving only to those who gave
Was how he played the game.

The logs held tight in death's still hands
Was proof of human sin.
They didn't die from the cold without,
They died from the cold within.

Tuesday, April 29, 2003
The Rose

John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform, and
studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central Station.
He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the
girl with the rose. His interest in her had begun thirteen months before in
a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued,
not with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the margin.
The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind. In the
front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis
Maynell. With time and effort he located her address.

She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and
inviting her to correspond. The next day he was shipped overseas for service
in World War II. During the next year and one month the two grew to know
each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile
heart. A romance was budding. Blanchard requested a photograph, but she

She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like.
When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they scheduled
their first meeting - 7:00 PM at the Grand Central Station in New York.
"You'll recognize me," she wrote, "by the red rose I'll be wearing on my
lapel." So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he
loved, but whose face he'd never seen. I'll let Mr. Blanchard tell you what

A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde
hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as
flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit
she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, entirely
forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small,
provocative smile curved her lips.

"Going my way, sailor?" she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step
closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing almost
directly behind the girl. A woman well past 40, she had graying hair tucked
under a worn hat. She was more than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into
low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away.

I felt as though I was split in two, so keen was my desire to follow her,
and yet so deep was my longing for the woman whose spirit had truly
companioned me and upheld my own. And there she stood. Her pale, plump face
was gentle and sensible, her gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did
not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the
book that was to identify me to her.

This would not be love, but it would be something precious, something
perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must
ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book
to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness of
my disappointment.

"I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad
you could meet me; may I take you to dinner?" The woman's face broadened
into a tolerant smile. "I don't know what this is about, son," she answered,
"but the young lady in the green suit who just went by, she begged me to
wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner,
I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant
across the street.

She said it was some kind of test!" It's not difficult to understand and
admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its
response to the unattractive.

"Tell me whom you love," Houssaye wrote, "And I will tell you who you

- Faye Jones

There is many a time
You seem to read my mind.
But in the end
You can't know what I intend.
Your view of my actions
Are clouded by your past attachments.

Your memory guides your comprehension.
If only you could change the definitions.
Erase the imprints on your heart.
Make a new start.
Allow me to ease your misery.
Let us make our own new history.

Sunday, April 27, 2003
Tomorrow May Become Never
-by Andrea Hill

Say your "I love you's" today
Tomorrow it might be too late
Here and now is forever
Regrets my friend, are too hard to shake

Tomorrow may become never
Who knows when they could be gone
I've done this one time too many
Although I knew it was wrong

So "I love you" mother and father
"I love you" my brother alike
"I love you" my husband and daughter
And all who have influenced my life

I will always speak from the heart
I will speak every word as our last
I shall have no further regrets
When someone I love has passed