At twenty, stooping round about, we thought the world a miserable place. Truth a trick, faith in doubt, little beauty and less grace. Now I’m thirty-five it seems, still stooping but a bit more upright. I still see misery but dream that all will be all right. At sixty, although much was well, you had your share of hurt and dark. Life was not a living hell, but nor was it a joyous lark. Now at seventy and what you see, although the world is worse by far, stops your heart in ecstasy. God, the wonders that there are!