She liked Aesop’s Fables best. We’d sit in the evening sun and lean against the side of the cabin and I would read. We learned the fables quickly. Her favorite fable was “The Wolf and the Crane.” In those days, my favorite was “The Snake and a File.”
The White House
June 12, 1863
Often, when I am alone and tired, I remember the hot sun of the prairie summer, how it seems to hold down everything as far as the eye can see. I remember how it climbed almost every morning—like a wheel.
I remember the squeaking of leather as my horse pulled his plow; there was small corn growing nearby, in field after field. There were birds.
There is a biting sense of loss, looking into the past: we know this is something that can never take place again. We know, too, that we can resurrect ourselves, sometimes pleasurably. Today, I esteem those glimpses that reassure me, in spite of their passing. Without them I think life would be so overcome by the present it would be difficult to continue living.
The better life should be everyman’s goal, a life that is not eaten up by toil, a life where there is freedom for thought, freedom for action. Men should be able to draw from the past; men should be able to construct for the present, a plan. Man should have time to evolve for himself and posterity—a heritage evoking pride leading to achievement that makes life worth living.