A minister, once walking through one of the newly-made American cemeteries in France after the first World War, saw a mother weeping over a grave.
Going up to her, he said, "Madam, you have my sympathy."
The woman looked up and answered, "I don't want your sympathy."
Somewhat taken aback, the minister answered, "Well, you have it whether you want it or not."
The woman then said, "No, I do not want your sympathy; I do not ask for your prayers. What I want is your appreciation."
It is better to bring a cheap bouquet
To a living friend this very day,
Than a bushel of roses, white and red,
To lay on his casket when he's dead.—Selected
The distinguished actor had a large photograph of Wordsworth prominently displayed in his dressing-room. A friend regarded the picture with some surprise, and remarked:
"I see you are an admirer of Wordsworth."
"Who's Wordsworth?" demanded the actor.
"Why, that's his picture," was the answer, as the friend pointed. "That's Wordsworth, the poet."
The actor regarded the photograph with a new interest.
"Is that old file a poet?" he exclaimed in astonishment. "I got him for a study in wrinkles."