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Your book is my constant companion.

Flowers are friends to me; reading Ruth surrounds me with their individual fragrance and bountiful beauty. Your book is my constant companion.

Erica, Texas

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I died for beauty, but was scarce. A poem by Emily Dickinson.

I diimageed for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room.
He questioned softly why I failed?
“For beauty,” I replied.
“And I for truth,–the two are one;
We brethren are,” he said.

 

And so, as kinsmen met a night,
We talked between the rooms.
Until the moss had reached our lips,
And covered up our names.

-Emily Dickinson