By: Diane Frank
A Collage of Inspiration
Dedication
This is material I have collected over a period of 40 years.
Each piece has given me some sort of Inspiration and life changing insight.
If I feel out of touch with myself or my God,
I look through this collection
And I find my soul planted firmly again.
I hope it will do the same for you!
Please enjoy it!
Diane Frank
Short Quotes
I apologize for not knowing where most of the material came from.
I have tried to give credit to the author whenever possible.
It is much easier to be critical than to be correct.
The biggest trouble with a sure thing is the uncertainty.
The tragedy of life is not that it ends so soon,
But that we wait so long to begin.
You never get a second chance to make a good first impression.
People are lonely because they build walls instead of bridges.
Don’t major in minor things.
The best way to destroy an enemy is to change him into a friend.
If you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything.
Gratitude is the memory of the heart.
Nothing is over until you stop trying.
People cannot change truth, but truth can change people.
Learning to live with the truth is the only way to get what we want and enjoy it.
Courage is the only security.
It is easy to see – but hard to foresee.
How much it improves people for us when we begin to love them.
If you must kill time, try working it to death.
What you are is god’s gift to you.
What you make of yourself is your gift to god.
Tact is the ability to describe others as they see themselves.
If you could give but one gift, make it a gift of a good example.
The best way to get something done is to begin.
An ideal wife is any woman who has an ideal husband.
Nothing is waste that makes a memory.
If you are patient in one moment of anger
You will escape a hundred days of sorrow.
The best combination of parents consists of a father who is
Gentle beneath his firmness, and a mother who is firm beneath her gentleness.
The secret of happiness is not in doing what one likes,
But in liking what one does.
The man who believes he can do something is probably right,
And so is the man who believes he can’t.
Success is a journey, not a destination.
Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity.
If nobody’s trying to tackle you, you ain’t got the football.
Failures are divided into two classes, those who thought and never did and those who did and never thought.
A goal without a deadline is not really a goal, it is a wish.
Did is a word of achievement.
Won’t is a word of retreat.
Might is a word of bereavement.
Can’t is a word of defeat.
Ought is a word of duty.
Try is a word each hour.
Will is a word of beauty.
Can is a word of power.
Failure is the opportunity to begin again more intelligently.
We are continually faced by great opportunities
Brilliantly disguised as unsolvable problems.
Learn to listen. Opportunity sometimes knocks very softly.
Don’t succeed at the wrong things.
It’s hard to travel in the fast lane
When you are surrounded by a bunch of speed bumps.
An ostrich is not really safe, he just thinks he is.
Actually, he is just presenting a different target.
The only way you get anywhere is a step at a time.
Stop taking steps and you stop going anywhere.
Teamwork is sometimes slowing down and sometimes speeding up.
Plan your work and work your plan.
Plan your life and live your plan.
If you fail to plan, you plan to fail.
In communicating seek understanding not agreement.
Silence is the only successful substitute for brains.
Always be kinder than necessary.
FOR A CHILD
By: Fannie Stearns Davis
Your friends shall be the tall wind,
The river and the tree,
The sun that laughs and marches,
The swallows and the Sea
Your prayers shall be the murmur
Of grasses in the rain,
The song of Wildwood Thrushes
That make God glad again.
And you shall run and wander,
And you shall dream and sing,
Of brave things and bright things
Beyond the swallows wings.
And you shall envy no man,
Nor hurt your heart with sighs
For I will keep you simple
That God may make you wise.
The Gifts We Never Gave
The many plans we made which never came to be…
At first they seemed to us to be a tragedy.
But now as I look back, I see the joy we had in planning them.
Each one has meant so very much to me.
Because our baby never lived to see a Christmas tree
Is not so sad as once it seemed, for now I think I see
Her hands reach out to touch the tinsel on a fairy tree.
I know she would have the very first gift I’d make her.
A wooly lamb, as white as snow with shoe-button eyes, to make her eyes glow.
For then she’d be but one month old.
When Christmas time came ‘round again,
The world was plunged in chaos, but Linda would be one year old
And for her second Christmas she’d have a little rocking chair
Her Daddy would have made.
A tiny music box would play Brahms’ Cradle Song, when rocked.
She’d be two, when next it’s time to say, Joyeux Noel,
Besides a chair and table, there would be a maple cradle
For our little Darling’s dolly to enjoy.
All made by her Daddy so she could pretend.
Then she’d be three and her gift would be
A rocking horse, with flying mane, made by her Daddy
And painted by me. He wouldn’t be rough yet not too tame
So Linda could enjoy her game.
As the joyous Yuletide season would once more grace the scene,
Our hearts would fill with joy once more
To know our daughter would be just past four.
From smooth grained honey maple, Daddy’s make a junior bed
Carved with Matthew, Mark, Luke and John
At the foot and at the head. Over it, a canopy of dotted swiss
And lace, I’d make it Oh so tenderly, her lovely form to grace.
Next, she’d be five, if she were alive, and running off to school.
I’d teach her to sing and dance and how to swim in a pool.
When she turned six, her hair I’d fix into cunning little curls.
She’d bring home all her little friends,
The neighborhood boys and girls.
At seven she’d be a little elf, to charm your heart away.
Happy we’d be, she’d sure make us so, if she just were here today.
At eight, she’d have her chores to do, Dad’s take her fishing, too.
She’d be our joy and comfort in everything we’d do.
If we seem sad, we’re really not for don’t you see that we
Have all the fun of seeing her as we would have her be.
This year we’d be planning to have a cake so fine.
On it we’d place candles, their number would be nine.
She’d learn to read all sorts of books. How she and I would chat.
Also she’d learn to play guitar, her Dad would see to that.
Never will this poem end, for end there cannot be.
She’s very much alive to us, and always she will be.
To others, she was stillborn and never saw the light
But in our hearts she’ll always burn, our Linda Carole, bright.
Written from May 1940- 1949 by Norma Chibaro (Diane’s Aunt)
To Live Over
Written By Nadine Stair, A Unitarian Of Louisville, Kentucky When She Was 85
If I had my life to live over again, I would dare to make more mistakes. I’d relax. I would limber up. I would be sillier than I have been on this trip. I would take more trips. I would climb more mountains and swim more rivers. I would eat more ice cream and less beans. I would, perhaps, have more trouble, but I’d have fewer imaginary ones. You see, I’m one of those people who had my moments and if I had it to do over again I’d have more of them. In fact, I’d try to have nothing else, just moments, one after another, instead of living so many years ahead of each day. I’ve been one of those persons who never goes anywhere without a thermometer, a hot water bottle, a raincoat, and parachutes. If I had it do again I would travel lighter. I would start barefoot earlier in the spring and stay that way later in the fall. I would go to more dances. I would ride more merry-go-rounds. I would pick more daisies.
Copied from a church bulletin and knew you would appreciate it as I have.
Jack Stimson (Diane’s Father)
A Prayer As We Grow Older
Surely, God, I am growing older. Keep me from the fatal habit of thinking that I must say something on every subject and on every occasion. Release me from craving to straighten out everybody’s affairs.
Make me thoughtful, but not moody; helpful, but not bossy. With my store of wisdom, it seems a pity not to use it all….but thou knowest God, that I want a few friends at the end.
Keep my mind from the recital of endless detail… Give me strength to get to the point. Seal my lips on my aches and pains. They are increasing, and love of rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by.
I dare not ask for grace enough to enjoy the tales of others, but help me to endure them with patience. I dare not ask for improved memory, but a growing humility and lessening cocksureness when my memory seems to clash with the memory of others. Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally I may be mistaken.
Keep me reasonably sweet; I do not want to be a saint….some of them are hard to live with….but a sour old person is one of the crowning works of the devil.
Give me the ability to see good things in unexpected places and talents in unexpected people…and give me the grace to tell them so.
Anonymous
Submitted by Jack Stimson (in all humility)
A Crabby Old Woman
What do you see, nurse, what do you see
What Are you thinking when you are looking at me
A crabby old woman, not very wise
Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply
When you say in a loud voice, “I wish you would try….”
Who seems not to notice the things that you do
And forever is losing stockings or shoe?
Who, unresisting or not, lets you do as you will
Is that what you are thinking, is that what you see.
Then, open your eyes, nurse, you’re not looking at me.
I’ll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,
As I do your bidding, as I eat at your will.
I’m a small child of ten, with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters who love one another.
A young girl of sixteen with wings on her feet,
Dreaming that soon now a lover she’ll meet;
A bride soon at twenty…my heart gives a leap
Remembering the vows that I promised to keep.
At twenty-five now, I have young of my own
Who need me to build a secure, happy home.
A woman of thirty, my young now grow fast
Bound to each other with ties that should last.
At forty my young sons have grown and gone
But my man’s beside me to see I don’t mourn.
At fifty, once more babies play round my knee
Again we know children, my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead;
I look at the future, I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing young of their own
And I think of the years and the love I have known.
I’m an old woman now and nature is cruel
It is her jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles, grace and vigor depart.
There is now a stone where I once had a heart.
But, inside of this old carcass a young girl still dwells
And now and again my battered heart wells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain;
Any I’m loving and living life over again.
I think of the years, all too few, gone too fast
And accept the stark fact that nothing will last.
So, open your eyes, nurse, open and see
Not a crabby old woman, look closer—-see me!
If
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or be lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stop and build them with worn-out tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them, “Hold on:”
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!
Rudyard Kipling
The Divine Ladder
Unto each mortal who comes to Earth
A Ladder is given by God, at birth
And up this Ladder every soul must go
Step by step from the valley below
Step by step to the center of space
On this Ladder of lives, to the Starting place.
In time departed (which yet endures)
I shape MY Ladder and you shape yours.
Whatever they are, they are what we made
A Ladder of light – or a Ladder of shade,
A Ladder of love, or a hateful thing
A Ladder of strength, or a wavering string,
A Ladder of gold or a Ladder of straw
Each is a Ladder of a righteous law.
We flung them away at the call of Earth
We took them again with the next life-breath.
For a Keeper stands by the great birth gates
As each soul passes, it’s Ladder waits.
Tho mine be narrow and yours be broad
On my Ladder alone can I climb to God.
On your Ladder alone can your feet ascent
For none may borrow and none may lend.
If toil and trouble and pain are found
Twisted and cored to form each round
If rusting iron or moldering wood
Is the fragile frame, you must make it good,
You must build it over and fashion it strong
Tho the task be as hard as your life is long.
For up this Ladder the pathway lead
To early pleasures and Spirit needs
And all that may come in another way
Shall be but illusion and will not stay.
In useless effort, then waste no time
Rebuild your Ladder and climb and climb.
The Bride’s Prayer
O Father, my heart is filled with a happiness so wonderful. I am almost afraid. This is my Wedding Day.
I pray Thee that the beautiful joy of this morning may never grow dim with the tears of regret for the step I am about to take. Rather may its memories become more sweet with each passing anniversary.
Thou has sent me one who seems all worthy of my deepest regard. Grant unto me the power to keep him ever true and loving as now.
May I prove indeed a helpmate, a sweetheart, a friend, a steadfast guiding star among all the temptations that beset this impulsive heart of mine.
Give me skill to make home the best loved place of all. Help me to make its light gleam brighter than any glow that would dim its radiance. Let me, I pray Thee, meet the little misunderstandings and cares of life more bravely.
Be with me as I start my mission of womanhood and stay Thou my path from failure all the way. Walk with us even unto the end of our journey.
O Father, Bless my Wedding Day, Hallow my Marriage Night, Sanctify my Motherhood if Thou seest fit to grant me that privilege.
And when all my youthful charms are gone, and cares and lessons have left their traces, let physical fascination give way to the greatest charm of companionship.
And so may we walk hand in hand down the highway of the valley of the shadow which we hope to lighten with the sunshine of good and happy lives.
O Father, this is my prayer. Hear me, I beseech Thee. Amen
ATTITUDE IS EVERYTHING
Jerry was the kind of guy you love to hate. He was always in a good mood and always had something positive to say. When someone would ask him how he was doing, he would reply, “If I were any better, I would be twins!”
He was a unique manager because he had several waiters who had followed him around from restaurant to restaurant. The reason the waiters followed Jerry was because of his attitude. He was a natural motivator. If an employee was having a bad day, Jerry was there telling the employee how to look on the positive side of the situation.
Seeing this style really made me curious, so one day I went up to Jerry and asked him, “I don’t get it! You can’t be a positive person all of the time. How do you do it?”
Jerry replied, “Each morning I wake up and say to myself, Jerry, you have two choices today. You can choose to be in a good mood or you can choose to be in a bad mood. I choose to be in a good mood. Each time something bad happens, I can choose to be a victim or I can choose to learn from it. I choose to learn from it. Every time someone comes to me complaining, I can choose to accept their complaining or I can point out the positive side of life. I choose the positive side of life.”
“Yeah, right, but it’s not that easy,” I protested.
“Yes it is,” Jerry said. “Life is all about choices. When you cut away all the junk, every situation is a choice:
You choose how you react to situations.
You choose how people will affect your mood.
You choose to be in a good or bad mood.
The bottom line: It’s your choice how you live life.”
I reflected on what Jerry said. Soon thereafter, I left the restaurant industry to start my own business. We lost touch, but I often thought about him when I made a choice about life instead of reacting to it.
Several years later, I heart that Jerry did something you are never supposed to do in the restaurant business: he left the back door open one morning and was held up at gunpoint by three armed robbers.
While trying to open the safe, his hand, shaking from nervousness, slipped off the combination. The robbers panicked and shot him.