YOUTH

Youth is not a time of life; it is a state of mind; it is not a matter ofrosy cheeks, red lips and supple knees; it is a matter of the will, aquality of the imagination, a vigor of the emotions; it is the freshness ofthe deep springs of life.
Youth means a tempera-mental predominance of courage over timidity, of theappetite for adventure over the love of ease. This often exists in a man of60 more than a boy of 20.　Nobody grows old merely by a number of years.　Wegrow old by deserting our ideals.
Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul.WYouth is not a time of life; it is a state of mind; it is not a matter ofrosy cheeks, red lips and supple knees; it is a matter of the will, aquality of the imagination, a vigor of the emotions; it is the freshness ofthe deep springs of life.
Youth means a tempera-mental predominance of courage over timidity, of theappetite for adventure over the love of ease. This often exists in a man of60 more than a boy of 20.　Nobody grows old merely by a number of years.　Wegrow old by deserting our ideals.
Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul.Youth is not a time of life; it is a state of mind; it is not a matter ofrosy cheeks, red lips and supple knees; it is a matter of the will, aquality of the imagination, a vigor of the emotions; it is the freshness ofthe deep springs of life.
Youth means a tempera-mental predominance of courage over timidity, of theappetite for adventure over the love of ease. This often exists in a man of60 more than a boy of 20.　Nobody grows old merely by a number of years.　Wegrow old by deserting our ideals.
Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul.Worry, fear, self-distrust bows the heart and turns the spring back to dust.
Whether 60 or 16, there is in every human being’s heart the lure of wonder,the unfailing childlike appetite of what’s next and the joy of the game ofliving.　In the center of your heart and my heart there is a wirelessstation: so long as it receives messages of beauty, hope, cheer, courage andpower from men and from the Infinite, so long are you young.
When the aerials are down, and your spirit is covered with snows of cynicismand the ice of pessimism, then you are grown old, even at 20, but as long asyour aerials are up, to catch waves of optimism, there is hope you may dieyoung at 80.Worry, fear, self-distrust bows the heart and turns the spring back to dust.
Whether 60 or 16, there is in every human being’s heart the lure of wonder,the unfailing childlike appetite of what’s next and the joy of the game ofliving.　In the center of your heart and my heart there is a wirelessstation: so long as it receives messages of beauty, hope, cheer, courage andpower from men and from the Infinite, so long are you young.
When the aerials are down, and your spirit is covered with snows of cynicismand the ice of pessimism, then you are grown old, even at 20, but as long asyour aerials are up, to catch waves of optimism, there is hope you may dieyoung at 80.orry, fear, self-distrust bows the heart and turns the spring back to dust.
Whether 60 or 16, there is in every human being’s heart the lure of wonder,the unfailing childlike appetite of what’s next and the joy of the game ofliving.　In the center of your heart and my heart there is a wirelessstation: so long as it receives messages of beauty, hope, cheer, courage andpower from men and from the Infinite, so long are you young.
When the aerials are down, and your spirit is covered with snows of cynicismand the ice of pessimism, then you are grown old, even at 20, but as long asyour aerials are up, to catch waves of optimism, there is hope you may dieyoung at 80.

Believe in myself

While my friends attended their universities in great delight, I restarted my senior high school life. My spirit sank at the prospect of starting all over again. Surrounded by strange classmates, I felt like I was in a maze and was sorry for myself. There were some complex feelings in my mind. I was frightened, nervous and lonely. 　 To make matters worse, I recalled my failure again and again, which put more pressure on me than I could bear. As a result, I was always feeling down during class.
　My teacher found me spiritless. One day he asked me to come to his office and told me about his attitude towards life: we might suffer from making mistakes, but it's important to model ourselves into the people we will become. All the growing pains and the embarrassing things we may experience are part of the process. We never stop growing up, so learn from it and keep up your spirit! At last, he added if you are optimistic, things you want may happen to you!
　Warm feelings rush through my soul. I suddenly found the sun shining again when I stepped out of his office. 　
　With the teacher's help, I eventually got over my depression. From then on, I no longer bowed my head but began smiling to my classmates. I would put up my hand confidently in class and kid with my new friends in my spare time. Meanwhile, I was gradually embraced by my classmates.
　Now faced with fierce competition, we all study strenuously, and every second counts. However, there is an atmosphere of mutual trust and respect between us. I love my class; I love my classmates!
　To be frank, I still have a thirst for my dream university, but I'm not afraid of the failure because I can profit by it. 　
　With parents and teachers' great expectation, I'm quite certain of my future and I'm sure I can fly high.

Feed Your Mind

　　Since the pre-historic times, man has had an urge to satisfy his needs. Be it hunger, shelter or search for a mate, he has always manipulated the circumstances to the best of his advantages. Probably this might be the reason why we human are the most developed of all living species on the earth, and probably also in the universe. As we climbed the steps of evolution with giant leaps, we somehow left behind common sense and logical thinking — we forgot that we have stopped thinking ahead of times.
　　If you are hungry, what do you do? Grab a piece of your favorite meal and stay quiet after that? Just like your stomach, even your mind is hungry. But it never lets you know, because you keep it busy thinking about your dream lover, favorite star and many such absurd things. So it silently began to heed to your needs and never let itself grow. When mind looses its freedom to grow, creativity gets a full stop. This might be the reason why we all sometimes think "What happens next?", "Why can't I think?", "Why am I always given the difficult problems?" Well this is the aftermath of our own karma of using our brain for thinking of not-so-worthy things.
　　Hunger of the mind can be actually satiated through extensive reading. Now why reading and not watching TV? Because reading has been the most educative tool used by us right from the childhood. Just like that to develop other aspects of our life, we have to take help of reading. You have innumerable number of books in this world which will answer all your “How to?” questions. Once you read a book, you just don't run your eyes through the lines, but even your mind decodes it and explains it to you. The interesting part of the book is stored in your mind as a seed. Now this seed is unknowingly used by you in your future to develop new ideas. The same seed if used many times, can help you link and relate a lot of things, of which you would have never thought of in your wildest dreams! This is nothing but creativity. More the number of books you read, your mind will open up like never before. Also this improves your oratory skills to a large extent and also makes a significant contribution to your vocabulary. Within no time you start speaking English or any language fluently with your friends or other people and you never seem to run out of the right words at the right time.
　　Actually, I had a problem in speaking English fluently, but as I read, I could improve significantly. I am still on the path of improvement to quench my thirst for satisfaction. So guys do join me and give food for your thoughts by reading, reading and more reading. Now what are you waiting for? Go, grab a book, and let me know!

In life two-pole

　　It has been so bitterly cold here in Pennsylvania.
　　I can’t remember a winter being as cold as this, but I’m sure there were colder days.
　　Even though the daylight hours are growing longer minute by minute, it’s easy to find an excuse not to go out unless you absolutely must, but bhen again I often have to push myself to accomplish things.
　　People I speak to have been in all kinds of nasty moods. They say they’re “under the weather,” not feeling good about this time of year.
　　As I stood outside with my two dogs yesterday, it was so cold that my nose and face felt crisp and my cars were stinging.
　　Of course, that doesn’t matter to Ricky and Lucy. They have a routine they must go through to find just the fight spot no matter how cold or hot it is.
　　So I wait.
　　But this time it was different. As cold as it was, I suddenly was invigorated thinking about how wonderful this extreme cold really was.
　　Then the sun broke through the clouds and memories of summer’s scorching hot days flashed through my mind. I could remember standing in the heat of the afternoon, sweat pouring down my brow and the hot, burning sun againse my face. I reminded myself then and there that in the cold of the winter I would wish I had this heat.
　　I was right.
　　Two extremes in my life that most of the time I find uncomfortable, I normally dread them and gripe about it all the way through.
　　But today I was grateful for them. Without the extremes in my life, I would never appreciate the days when things were just right. Without the extremes life would be boring.
　　It’s being pushed to one of the extremes that makes us appreciate the middle more. Health challenges reminds us that we need to pay more attention to how we live. Financial extremes reminds us that when things are in excess it’s time to tuck away for when the times are lean.
　　So bring on the cold so I appreciate the heat more.
　　Make me sweat on a hot summer’s day so I wish I had a handful of snow to rub my face in.
　　I’ve come to the conclusion that all too often I find a reason not to be happy with where I am at that moment.
　　Whether it’s hot or cold, good health or bad, in the money or out of it, I always wanted it to be different.
　　But no more. I want to start finding a reason to be happy right where I am. Even if it’s simply the fact that I’m alive.
　　I’m tired of being “Under the Weather!”

Opens gate of the happiness seven necessary qualities for you

No, happiness isn't a lottery ticket away.
I am fascinated by academic studies of human happiness, because they bring scientific rigor to issues we all grapple with. We think more money will make us happier and yet studies suggest Americans are no more satisfied than they were three decades ago, when the standard of living was much lower.
So if winning the lottery won't do the trick, what will? Here are seven key lessons from happiness research. It is indeed possible to boost our happiness -- but it'll take more than a fat wallet.
1 What matters is what we focus on.
Those with higher incomes aren't necessarily happier. But when asked how satisfied they are with their lives, high earners are more likely to say they're happy.
Why? The question makes them ponder their position in society -- and they realize they're pretty lucky. The implication: If you have a hefty portfolio or hefty paycheck, you can probably bolster your happiness by regularly contemplating your good fortune.
Meanwhile, if you are less well off, avoid situations where you feel deprived -- and seek out those where comparisons are in your favor. Rather than buying the cheapest house in a wealthy neighborhood, settle for a town where people have similar salaries. When you think about your net worth, forget your well-heeled sister and focus on your cash-strapped brother.
2 Don't go it alone.
Studies have found that married folks are happier than those who are single.
'Marriage provides two sources of happiness,' says Andrew Oswald, an economics professor at England's Warwick University. 'One is sex and the other is friendship. Marriage has one of the largest impacts on human well-being.'
Similarly, spending time with friends can boost happiness. Studies indicate that commuting is one of life's least enjoyable activities, that looking after the kids is more of a struggle than we like to admit and that eating is one of life's great pleasures.
But all of these things can be enhanced by adding friends. Commuting with others will make the trip less grim, playing with the kids will be more fun if there's another adult along and eating with others is better than eating alone.
3 We like to feel secure.
Midlife is a period of relative unhappiness. This dissatisfaction may stem from the lack of control felt by those in their 40s, as they juggle raising children and the demands of work.
By contrast, employees in senior positions, retirees and those with good job security often report being happy. One explanation: They have greater control over their daily lives.
'There's a profound link between insecurities of all kinds and human well-being,' Prof. Oswald notes. 'Supervisors are happier than those who are supervised. Job loss is an enormous negative and job security is an enormous plus to mental health.'
4 We enjoy making progress.
Studies suggest we prefer leisure to work. But that doesn't mean work is always a source of unhappiness. We like the feeling of performing a job competently and being in the flow of work.
'There are definitely better and worse jobs,' says David Schkade, a management professor at the University of California at San Diego. 'If you're in the flow more often, that's going to be a better job.'
But Prof. Schkade says work's real pleasure may come from the sense of accomplishment we feel afterward. 'We know progress makes people feel good,' he says. 'You should design a life where you have that feeling of progress.'
Work also has the benefit of making leisure seem sweeter, Prof. Schkade adds. This may be the reason seniors who set out solely to relax and have fun are often disappointed by their retirement.
5 We adapt to improvements.
In pursuit of progress, we strive for faster cars, fatter paychecks and winning lottery tickets.
Yet, when we get what we hanker after, we quickly become dissatisfied and soon we're lusting after something else. Academics refer to this as the 'hedonic treadmill' or 'hedonic adaptation.'
We may, however, be able to slow the process of adaptation. If we go out and celebrate our recent promotion, we will hang onto the good feelings for a little longer. If we bought a house last year, we may recover some of the initial thrill by pausing to admire our new home.
We should also think about how we spend our money. It seems we get more lasting happiness from experiences than goods.
If we buy a new car, it will eventually go from being our pride and joy to being a scruffy set of wheels with an irritating rattle. But if we spend our money on meals with friends or vacations with family, we will be left with fond memories that may grow even fonder with time.
6 We also adapt to setbacks.
While adaptation can work against us when good things happen, it saves us from misery when bad times strike. If a close friend dies, we imagine we will never laugh again. But adaptation rides to the rescue.
Oddly enough, it seems we adjust more quickly if a setback is large or irreversible. If we become disabled, we will likely adapt with surprising speed. If our spouse is a slob, we may never get used to it.
One reason: We figure there's still a chance our spouse will change his or her slovenly ways.
7 We enjoy behaving virtuously.
If we volunteer, give to charity or behave politely, we usually feel pretty good.
Pure altruism? It may, instead, be our ancient instincts kicking in. Good behavior paid big dividends in ancient societies, notes Boston money manager Terry Burnham, co-author of 'Mean Genes.'
'Virtue is built into us because virtue was rewarded,' he argues. 'In small-scale societies, where you are well known, there are rewards for being a good citizen and severe punishments for being a rule breaker.'
Still, whatever our true motivation, behaving virtuously is almost always a good thing -- and it will likely make us happier.

The Midnight Visitor

Ausable did not fit the description of any secret agent. Fowler had ever read about. Following him down the corridor of the old French hotel where Ausable had a room， Fowler felt disappointed. It was a small room， on the sixth and top floor and hardly a setting for a romantic figure.
　　 Ausable was， for one thing， fat. Very fat. Very fat. And then there was his accent. Though he spoke French and German fairly well， he had never altogether lost the New England accent he had brought to Pairs from Boston twenty years ago.
　　 “You are disappointed，” Ausable said over his shoulder. “You were told that I was a secret agent， a spy. You wished to meet me because you are a writer， young and romantic. You expected mysterious figures in the right， the crack of pistols， drugs in the wine.”
　　 “Instead， you have spent a whole evening in a French music hall with a dirtylooking fat man who， instead of having messages slipped into his hand by dark -- eyed beauties， gets only an ordinary telephone call making an appointment in his room. You have been bored!” The fat man laughted quietly as he unlocked the door of his room and stood aside to let his guest enter.
　　 “But take cheer， my young friend，” Ausable told him.
　　 “Soon you will see a paper， a quite important paper for which several men and women have risked their lives， come to me in the nexttolast step of its journey into official hands. Some day that paper may well affect the course of history. In that thought is drama， is there not?” As he spoke， Ausable closed the door behind him. Then he turned on the light.
　　 And as the light came on， Fowler had his first shock of the day. For halfway across the room， a small pistol in his hand， stood a man. Ausable blinked a few times.
　　 “Max，” he said， “you gave me quite a start. I thought you were in Berlin. What are you doing in my room?”
　　 Max was thin， not tall， and with a face that suggested the look of a fox. Except for the gun， he did not look very dangerous.
　　 “The report，” he said in a quiet voice. “The report that is being brought to you tonight about some new missiles. I thought I would take it from you. It will be safer in my hands than in yours.”
　　 Ausable moved to an armchair and sat down heavily. “I’m going to raise the devil with the management this time; I am angry，” he said firmly. “This is the second time in a month that somebody has gotten into my room from that balcony!” Fowler’s eyes went to the single window of the room. It was an ordinary window， with the black night outside.
　　 “Balcony?” Max asked. “No， I had a passkey. I did not know about the balcony. It could have saved me some trouble had I known about it.”
　　 “It’s not my balcony，” explained Ausable angrily. “It belongs to the next apartment. You see， this room used to be part of a large unit， and the next room had the balcony， which extends under my window now. You can get onto it from the empty room next door， and somebody did， last month. The management promised to block it off. But they haven’t.”
　　 Fowler was standing stiffly near Ausable. “Please sit down，” said Max to Fowler， waving his gun with a commanding gesture. “We have a wait of about half an hour.”
　　 “I wish I knew how you Germans learned about the report， Max，” said Ausable.
　　 The little spy smiled. “And we wish we knew how people got the report. But， no harm has been done. I will get it back tonight. What is that? Who is at the door?”
　　 Fowler jumped at the sudden knocking at the door.
　　 usable just smiled. “That will be the police，” he said， “I thought that such an important paper as the one we were waiting for should have a little extra protection. I told them to check on me to make sure everything was all right.”
　　 Max bit his lip.The knocking was repeated.
　　 “What will you do now， Max?” Ausable asked. “If I do not answer the door， they will enter anyway. The door is unlocked. And they will not hesitate to shoot.”
　　 Max’s face was black with anger as he backed swiftly toward the window; with his hand behind him， he opened the window and put his leg out into the night. “I will wait on the balcony. Send them away or I’ll shoot and take my chances!”
　　 The knocking at the door became louder and a voice was raised. “Mr. Ausable! Mr. Ausable!”
　　 Keeping his body twisted so that his gun still covered the fat man and his guest， the man at the window seized the frame with his free hand to support himself as he rested his weight on one thigh. Then he swung his other leg up and over the window sill.
　　 The doorknob turned. Swiftly Max pushed with his left hand to free himself， and dropped to the balcony. And then as he dropped， he screamed once shrilly.
　　 The door opened and a waiter stood there with a tray， a bottle and two glasses. “Here is the drink you ordered， sir.” He set the tray on the table and left the room.
　　 White faced and shaking， Fowler stared after him. “But... but... what about... the police?” he stammered.
　　 “There never were any police，” Ausable said. “Only Henry， whom I was expecting.”
　　 “But what about the man on the balcony...?” Fowler began.

Home Truth

It was the smell of rain that I missed the most and the sound of a lawnmower and the waft of cut grass. It was being out in the open and standing bare foot! Blue skies part and parcel of it all; the thunder that would blast over and leave—the coming of a tropical sundown, an evening of barbecues, of warm pools, beer splattering on concrete. The bed awaiting, a vest, a body glistening from perspiration and a sleep of pillows constantly changing sides, a mosquito in the ear. Sleepless nights that were all you knew. And then, one day I left it behind. I moved to a city, to grim faced pallid movements, and there I became with them a ghost on the sidewalks. Dimly, ambling along with my face down, watching my steps and hurrying towards my quotidian activities.
Winters I spent indoor in solace. My flat mates—the friends I had—worked day and night. They were accustomed to leaving the soul behind, the need for money was so official. I would spend nights in the strange house, with creaks of a wall I did not know, and sit by the phone that our landlord had locked, and think of conversations of the past, of my mother's voice ringing, of my best friend whom I would lose contact with, and I would write letters, letters I would never send, letters that clutched the truth—that only I knew. I would cry, tears staining the ink, a smudged idea of love. I was temping then, doing mindless data entry, tapping words into a computer, and moving on wondering what worth there was, and how to find it. My flat mates would come home just before midnight—Mark and Craig, my two best friends. I would smile inwardly and outwardly and make them tea, a sandwich, sit with them and live their lives, hear their stories, flourish in company. Sleep would be eschewed, I yearned for comfort, and company eased the etching of loneliness.
I drank a lot, I had a job and I met people, and I continued my ambling in a city that was not mine. Every Friday my work offered free drinks and I catapulted towards the bar, I sipped 8)ferociously at the wine, the beer, I got horrifically drunk and so the person that I was not, but so yearned to be would come out. She, loud, vivacious, articulate would spend the evening conversing with strangers, laughing and sometimes, flirting! I seemed to step out of myself and watch in amazement. After drinks, I would stumble to the Palladium to meet Mark and Craig—they both worked there as ushers. I would arrive as they were finishing work and we would sit in the bar and I would continue, I would drink.
One night we fell drunk into the house. I lit a cigarette; I sat down and my mind triggered off dull thuds of depression. I went to the bathroom and in a mode of translucent mania I took out a razor blade and in numb motions slowly cut at my wrist, tears streaming down my face, I stopped as soon as I started, my aim was wrong-it was in the name of attention, except I would tell nobody, the attention was all to myself. Quietly, I wrapped my stinging arm with toilet paper, walked to my room and put on a jersey so as to cover the threat, the childish self abuse. I lay and quickly wiped my tears as I heard the friendly footsteps of Mark and Craig. They stood and bantered and eventually I followed them downstairs, and listened to Bob Marley, and Redemption song, my favorite song—"Sold I to the merchant ships…"
And so, I stood on the tube, Dollis Hill to Marylebone and I stared at the scars on my wrist. The scars of stupidity that only I knew of, I was entranced, as though it were not me—it's never me. I swayed to the motion of the train, the city was corrupting me, my soul was slowly bitten, I wanted to yell out my mind, but it all seeped inwards, I was boring myself with my own pleas.
It got better, as it does get better, as you know no better and I sunk into my life, I slowly enjoyed its offerings, I adjusted to the climate, to the people and one day as I walked outside my new flat—not mine of course, but my temporary abode that I rented, as I took out the garbage on a autumn Saturday—in my pyjamas, with the TV and the glow of comfort, I looked at the grey, I sucked it in and I quite enjoyed it—it's romantic quality, it's gloom appealed to me, as it would eventually with my nature. I liked it. I went inside, and shivered—a content chill, I enjoyed the cold and the idea of being able to get warm and I lay on the couch with my toes under a cushion, an inane program keeping me entertained. It all grows on you.
I went home, eventually. I spent five months appreciating the beauty, the climate, the content natures surrounding me. I ate healthy food, I listened to a language I had forgotten about, I roamed on farms that were not mine, went to wine harvests, put on high factors to shield out the sun, spend days lamenting the heat. But, it was not time, I was unable to indulge as the city, London, was still with me, my love and loathing relationship was still continuing, I was still meant to be there, whether unhappy or not. I could not explain it, it's not the city I suppose, it's me-I need to be content. I left, I left what I love so much, no great epiphany, just not at that moment. One day home will come to me, or I will go to home and I await the knowledge in peace.