Wouldn't this old world be better If the folks we meet would say -- "I know something good about you!" And treat us just that way? Wouldn't it be fine and dandy If each handclasp, fond and true, Carried with it this assurance -- "I know something good about you!" Wouldn't life be lots more happy If the good that's in us all Were the only thing about us That folks bothered to recall? Wouldn't life be lots more happy If we praised the good we see? For there's such a lot of goodness In the worst of you and me! Wouldn't it be nice to practise That fine way of thinking, too? You know something good about me, I know something good about you?

As I would not be a slave, so I would not be a master. This expresses my idea of democracy. Whatever differs from this, to the extent of the difference is no democracy.

Bigotry has no head and cannot think, no heart and cannot feel. When she moves it is in wrath; when she pauses it is amid ruin. Her prayers are curses, her god is a demon, her communion is death, her vengeance is eternity, her decalogue is written in the blood of her victims, and if she stops for a moment in her infernal flight it is upon a kindred rock to whet her vulture fang for a more sanguinary desolation.

It was six men of Indostan To learning much inclined, Who went to see the elephant (Though all of them were blind), That each by observation Might satisfy his mind. The first approached the elephant, And, happening to fall Against his broad and sturdy side, At once began to bawl, "God bless me! but the elephant Is very like a wall" The second feeling of the tusk Cried: "Ho! what have we here So very round and smooth and sharp? To me 'tis mighty clear This wonder of an elephant Is very like a spear!" The third approached the animal, And, happening to take The squirming trunk within his hands, Thus boldly up and spake: "I see," quoth he, "the elephant, Is very like a snake!" The fourth reached out his eager hand, And felt about the knee; "What most this wondrous beast is like Is mighty plain," quoth he; "'Tis clear enough the elephant Is very like a tree." The fifth, who chanced to touch the ear, Said: "E'en the blindest man Can tell what this resembles most. Deny the fact who can, This marvel of an elephant Is very like a fan!" The sixth no sooner had begun About the beast to grope, Than, seizing on the swinging tail That fell within his scope, "I see," quoth he, "the elephant Is very like a rope!" And so these men of Indostan Disputed loud and long, Each in his own opinion Exceeding stiff and strong, Though each was partly in the right, And all were in the wrong! So, oft in the theologic wars The disputants, I ween, Rail on in utter ignorance Of what each other mean, And prate about an elephant Not one of them has seen!

A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines. With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to do. He may as well concern himself with his shadow on the wall. Out upon your guarded lips! Sew them up with pack thread, do. Else, if you would be a man, speak what you think today in words as hard as cannon balls, and tomorrow speak what tomorrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict everything you said today.... Fear never but what you shall be consistent in whatever variety of actions, so they be each honest and natural in their hour. For of one will, the actions will be harmonious, however unlike they seem. These varieties are lost sight of when seen at a little distance, at a little height of thought. One tendency unites then all. The voyage of the best ship is a zigzag line of a hundred tacks. This is only a microscopic criticism. See the line from a sufficient distance, and it straightens itself to the average tendency, your genuine action will explain itself and will explain your other genuine actions.

If you have a tender message, Or a loving word to say, Do not wait till you forget it, But whisper it today; The tender word unspoken, The letter never sent, The long forgotten messages, The wealth of love unspent-- For these some hearts are breaking, For these some loved ones wait; So show them that you care for them Before it is too late.

If you sit down at set of sun And count the acts that you have done, And, counting, find One self-denying deed, one word That eased the heart of him who heard, One glance most kind That fell like sunshine where it went -- Then you may count that day well spent. But if, through all the livelong day, You've cheered no heart, by yea or nay -- If, through it all You've nothing done that you can trace That brought the sunshine to one face -- No act most small That helped some soul and nothing cost -- Then count that day as worse than lost.

It's not so much what you say As the manner in which you say it; It's not so much the language you use As the tone in which you convey it; "Come here!" I sharply said, And the child cowered and wept. "Come here," I said -- He looked and smiled And straight to my lap he crept. Words may be mild and fair And the tone may pierce like a dart; Words may be soft as the summer air But the tone may break my heart; For words come from the mind Grow by study and art -- But tone leaps from the inner self Revealing the state of the heart. Whether you know it or not, Whether you mean or care, Gentleness, kindness, love, and hate, Envy, anger, are there. Then, would you quarrels avoid And peace and love rejoice? Keep anger not only out of your words -- Keep it out of your voice.

The man who misses all the fun Is he who says, "It can't be done." In solemn pride he stands aloof And greets each venture with reproof. Had he the power he'd efface The history of the human race; We'd have no radio or motor cars, No streets lit by electric stars; No telegraph nor telephone, We'd linger in the age of stone. The world would sleep if things were run By men who say "It can't be done."

The heights by great men reached and kept Were not attained by sudden flight, But they, while their companions slept Were toiling upward in the night.

Twinkle, twinkle, little star, How I wonder what you are! Up above the world so high, Like a diamond in the sky. When the blazing sun is set, When the grass with dew is wet, Then you show your little light, Twinkle, twinkle, all the night. Then the traveler in the dark, Thanks you for your tiny spark; He could not see which way to go If you did not twinkle so. In the dark blue sky you keep, And often through my curtains peep, For you never shut your eye Till the sun is in the sky. As your bright and shiny spark, Lights the traveler in the dark, Though I know not what you are, Twinkle, twinkle, little star.

Who hath a book Has friends at hand, And gold and gear At his command; And rich estates, If he but look, Are held by him Who hath a book. Who hath a book Has but to read And he may be A king indeed; His Kingdom is His inglenook; All this is his Who hath a book.

If a nation expects to be ignorant and free, in a state of civilization, it expects what never was and never will be. -Thomas Jefferson, 1816

There is so much good in the worst of us, And so much bad in the best of us, That it hardly becomes any of us To talk about the rest of us.

If instead of a jewel, or even a flower, we could cast the gift of a lovely thought into the heart of another, that would be giving as the angels must give.