Dublin made me and no little town; With the country closing in on its streets; The cattle walking proudly on its pavements; The jobbers, the gombeenmen and the cheats; Devouring the fair-day between them; Donagh MacDonagh;
__Dublin Made Me
How long can men thrive between walls of brick, walking on asphalt pavements, breathing the fumes of coal and of oil, growing, working, dying, with hardly a thought of wind, and sky, and fields of grain, seeing only machine-made beauty, the mineral-like quality of life?
__Charles A. Lindbergh, Reader's Digest, November 1939
I've spent most of my life walking under that hovering cloud, jealousy, whose acid raindrops blurred my vision and burned holes in my heart. Once I learned to use the umbrella of confidence, the skies cleared up for me and the sunshine called joy became my faithful companion.