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Capsule Course In Human Relations
The five most important words in the English language:
“I am proud of you.”
The four most important words:
“What is your opinion?”
The three most important words:
“If you please.”
The two most important words:
“Thank you.”
The least important word:
“I.”
By Robert W. Woodruff
Robert Winship Woodruff was born on 6 December 1889 in Columbus, Georgia, United States of America. He became a businessman and a corporate executive. Robert Winship Woodruff passed on at 95 years of age on 7 March 1985 in Atlanta, Georgia, United States of America.
The five most important words in the English language:
“I am proud of you.”
The four most important words:
“What is your opinion?”
The three most important words:
“If you please.”
The two most important words:
“Thank you.”
The least important word:
“I.”
By Robert W. Woodruff
Robert Winship Woodruff was born on 6 December 1889 in Columbus, Georgia, United States of America. He became a businessman and a corporate executive. Robert Winship Woodruff passed on at 95 years of age on 7 March 1985 in Atlanta, Georgia, United States of America.
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Worth While
It is easy enough to be pleasant,
When life flows by like a song,
But the man worth while is one who will smile,
When everything goes dead wrong.
For the test of the heart is trouble,
And it always comes with the years,
And the smile that is worth the praises of Earth,
Is the smile that shines through tears.
It is easy enough to be prudent,
When nothing tempts you to stray,
When without or within no voice of sin
Is luring your soul away;
But it’s only a negative virtue
Until it is tried by fire,
And the life that is worth the honor on Earth,
Is the one that resists desire.
By the cynic, the sad, the fallen,
Who had no strength for the strife,
The world’s highway is cumbered to-day,
They make up the sum of life.
But the virtue that conquers passion,
And the sorrow that hides in a smile,
It is these that are worth the homage on Earth
For we find them but once in a while.
By Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Ella Wheeler Wilcox was born on 5 November 1850 in Johnstown, Wisconsin, United States of America. She became a poet and a journalist. Ella Wheeler Wilcox passed on at 68 years of age on 30 October 1919 in Short Beach, Connecticut, United States of America.
It is easy enough to be pleasant,
When life flows by like a song,
But the man worth while is one who will smile,
When everything goes dead wrong.
For the test of the heart is trouble,
And it always comes with the years,
And the smile that is worth the praises of Earth,
Is the smile that shines through tears.
It is easy enough to be prudent,
When nothing tempts you to stray,
When without or within no voice of sin
Is luring your soul away;
But it’s only a negative virtue
Until it is tried by fire,
And the life that is worth the honor on Earth,
Is the one that resists desire.
By the cynic, the sad, the fallen,
Who had no strength for the strife,
The world’s highway is cumbered to-day,
They make up the sum of life.
But the virtue that conquers passion,
And the sorrow that hides in a smile,
It is these that are worth the homage on Earth
For we find them but once in a while.
By Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Ella Wheeler Wilcox was born on 5 November 1850 in Johnstown, Wisconsin, United States of America. She became a poet and a journalist. Ella Wheeler Wilcox passed on at 68 years of age on 30 October 1919 in Short Beach, Connecticut, United States of America.
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I Hope You Do!
I hope you woke up this morning with a big smile on your face
I hope the sun is shining just for you
and the birds are singing their very best songs . . .
I hope your coffee is hot and tastes just right
and the cats are purring contentedly, and the mailman waves a
cheery hello and there are no bills in the mailbox . . .
I hope just everything goes your way . . .
I hope everything is well with your world,
a place for everything and everything in its place . . .
I hope you can enjoy all you do and you are
complimented on the way
you look and you can laugh
and talk and share to your heart’s content
I hope you have all you wish for yourself and those dear to you,
and all your dreams come true . . .
At the end of the day
I wish you a perfect moon shining just for you,
a snug and cozy bed with the softest of pillows
and I hope you sleep like a lamb with a smile on your face . . .
I hope you have a perfect end to the perfect day
and I hope that every day is just as wonderful in its own way
I hope your day is . . . filled with love!
By Author Unknown
I hope you woke up this morning with a big smile on your face
I hope the sun is shining just for you
and the birds are singing their very best songs . . .
I hope your coffee is hot and tastes just right
and the cats are purring contentedly, and the mailman waves a
cheery hello and there are no bills in the mailbox . . .
I hope just everything goes your way . . .
I hope everything is well with your world,
a place for everything and everything in its place . . .
I hope you can enjoy all you do and you are
complimented on the way
you look and you can laugh
and talk and share to your heart’s content
I hope you have all you wish for yourself and those dear to you,
and all your dreams come true . . .
At the end of the day
I wish you a perfect moon shining just for you,
a snug and cozy bed with the softest of pillows
and I hope you sleep like a lamb with a smile on your face . . .
I hope you have a perfect end to the perfect day
and I hope that every day is just as wonderful in its own way
I hope your day is . . . filled with love!
By Author Unknown
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Myosotis sylvatica, commonly known as Wood Forget-Me-Nots or Woodland Forget-Me-Nots or simply Forget-Me-Nots
A Daily Inventory
Did I stop to smell the flowers,
And appreciate the small things along the way
Did I look for the good in people,
That I met along the way?
Did I see the beauty in God’s creation,
As in the thing created by man,
Did I count each day the blessings,
In my life since it began?
Did I listen with caring and compassion,
And walk in another’s shoes,
Did I offer a shoulder to lean on,
Did I practice the Golden Rule?
Did I kill my anger in its early stages
Before it had time to sprout,
And grow to its full maturity,
Where love is crowded out?
Did I blindfold my eyes from Life’s sunshine,
To avoid the pain that comes from Life’s nights,
To only live in the ugliness of darkness,
Never to see the beauty of morning’s light?
Did I let my heart seek vision and purpose,
When I was lonely and filled with fear,
Did I stop and ask God for directions,
Did I give hurt time-out for tears?
Did I practice the words, “I’m Sorry,”
And try to correct wrongs to make them right,
Did I forgive the ones who’ve hurt me,
Before I fall asleep at night?
By Mildred Bettag
Did I stop to smell the flowers,
And appreciate the small things along the way
Did I look for the good in people,
That I met along the way?
Did I see the beauty in God’s creation,
As in the thing created by man,
Did I count each day the blessings,
In my life since it began?
Did I listen with caring and compassion,
And walk in another’s shoes,
Did I offer a shoulder to lean on,
Did I practice the Golden Rule?
Did I kill my anger in its early stages
Before it had time to sprout,
And grow to its full maturity,
Where love is crowded out?
Did I blindfold my eyes from Life’s sunshine,
To avoid the pain that comes from Life’s nights,
To only live in the ugliness of darkness,
Never to see the beauty of morning’s light?
Did I let my heart seek vision and purpose,
When I was lonely and filled with fear,
Did I stop and ask God for directions,
Did I give hurt time-out for tears?
Did I practice the words, “I’m Sorry,”
And try to correct wrongs to make them right,
Did I forgive the ones who’ve hurt me,
Before I fall asleep at night?
By Mildred Bettag
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Youth
Youth is not a time of life - it is a state of mind. It is not a matter of red cheeks, red lips, and supple knees. It is a temper of the will; a quality of the imagination; a vigor of the emotions; it is a freshness of the deep springs of life. Youth means a temperamental predominance of courage over timidity, of the appetite for adventure over a life of ease. This often exists in a man of fifty, more than in a boy of twenty. Nobody grows old by merely living a number of years; people grow old by deserting their ideals.
Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul. Worry, doubt, self-distrust, fear and despair - these are the long, long years that bow the head and turn the growing spirit back to dust.
Whether seventy or sixteen, there is in every being’s heart a love of wonder; the sweet amazement at the stars and starlike things and thoughts; the undaunted challenge of events, the unfailing childlike appetite for what comes next, and the joy in the game of life.
You are as young as your faith, as old as your doubt; as young as your self-confidence, as old as your fear, as young as your hope, as old as your despair.
In the central place of your heart there is a wireless station. So long as it receives messages of beauty, hope, cheer, grandeur, courage, and power from the earth, from men and from the Infinite - so long are you young. When the wires are all down and the central places of your heart are covered with the snows of pessimism and the ice of cynicism, then are you grown old, indeed!
By Samuel Ullman: ‘Youth’ as published in Jane Manner: “The Silver Treasury: “Prose and Verse for Every Mood” (1934), pages 323 and 324
Samuel Ullman was born on 13 April 1840 in Hechingen, Hohenzollern, Germany. In 1851, he immigrated with his family to the United States of America. He became a shopkeeper, a member of the Birmingham board of education, a president and lay rabbi at Temple Emanu-El in Birmingham, an essayist, and a poet. Samuel Ullman passed on at 83 years of age on 21 March 1924 in Birmingham, Alabama, United States of America.
Youth is not a time of life - it is a state of mind. It is not a matter of red cheeks, red lips, and supple knees. It is a temper of the will; a quality of the imagination; a vigor of the emotions; it is a freshness of the deep springs of life. Youth means a temperamental predominance of courage over timidity, of the appetite for adventure over a life of ease. This often exists in a man of fifty, more than in a boy of twenty. Nobody grows old by merely living a number of years; people grow old by deserting their ideals.
Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul. Worry, doubt, self-distrust, fear and despair - these are the long, long years that bow the head and turn the growing spirit back to dust.
Whether seventy or sixteen, there is in every being’s heart a love of wonder; the sweet amazement at the stars and starlike things and thoughts; the undaunted challenge of events, the unfailing childlike appetite for what comes next, and the joy in the game of life.
You are as young as your faith, as old as your doubt; as young as your self-confidence, as old as your fear, as young as your hope, as old as your despair.
In the central place of your heart there is a wireless station. So long as it receives messages of beauty, hope, cheer, grandeur, courage, and power from the earth, from men and from the Infinite - so long are you young. When the wires are all down and the central places of your heart are covered with the snows of pessimism and the ice of cynicism, then are you grown old, indeed!
By Samuel Ullman: ‘Youth’ as published in Jane Manner: “The Silver Treasury: “Prose and Verse for Every Mood” (1934), pages 323 and 324
Samuel Ullman was born on 13 April 1840 in Hechingen, Hohenzollern, Germany. In 1851, he immigrated with his family to the United States of America. He became a shopkeeper, a member of the Birmingham board of education, a president and lay rabbi at Temple Emanu-El in Birmingham, an essayist, and a poet. Samuel Ullman passed on at 83 years of age on 21 March 1924 in Birmingham, Alabama, United States of America.
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Dust If You Must
Dust if you must, but wouldn’t it be better,
To paint a picture or write a letter,
Bake a cake or plant a seed,
Ponder the difference between want and need?
Dust if you must, but there’s not much time,
With rivers to swim and mountains to climb,
Music to hear and books to read,
Friends to cherish and life to lead.
Dust if you must, but the world’s out there
With the sun in your eyes, the wind in your hair,
A flutter of snow, a shower of rain.
This day will not come ’round again.
Dust if you must, but bear in mind,
Old age will come and it’s not always kind.
And when you go and go you must,
You, yourself, will make more dust.
By Rose Milligan (15 September 1998)
Mrs. Rose Milligan resided in Lancaster, Lancashire, England when she wrote the above poem.
Dust if you must, but wouldn’t it be better,
To paint a picture or write a letter,
Bake a cake or plant a seed,
Ponder the difference between want and need?
Dust if you must, but there’s not much time,
With rivers to swim and mountains to climb,
Music to hear and books to read,
Friends to cherish and life to lead.
Dust if you must, but the world’s out there
With the sun in your eyes, the wind in your hair,
A flutter of snow, a shower of rain.
This day will not come ’round again.
Dust if you must, but bear in mind,
Old age will come and it’s not always kind.
And when you go and go you must,
You, yourself, will make more dust.
By Rose Milligan (15 September 1998)
Mrs. Rose Milligan resided in Lancaster, Lancashire, England when she wrote the above poem.
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The Bridge Builder
An old man, going down a lone highway,
Came at the evening, cold and gray,
To a chasm, vast and deep and wide,
Through which was flowing a sullen tide.
The old man crossed in the twilight dim -
That sullen stream had no fears for him;
But he turned, when he reached the other side,
And built a bridge to span the tide.
“Old man,” said a fellow pilgrim near,
“You are wasting strength in building here.
Your journey will end with the ending day;
You never again must pass this way.
You have crossed the chasm, deep and wide,
Why build you the bridge at the eventide?”
The builder lifted his old gray head.
“Good friend, in the path I have come,” he said,
“There followeth after me today
A youth whose feet must pass this way.
This chasm that has been naught to me
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building the bridge for him.
By Will Allen Dromgoole
William Allen ‘Will’ Dromgoole was born on 26 October 1860 in Murfreesboro, Tennessee, United States of America. She became a writer and a poet. She wrote more than 5,000 essays and more than 7,500 poems, and had 13 books published. She was the first woman officer in the United States Navy, and organized the Women’s Press Club of Waco. She taught school for a year in Tennessee and for a year in Temple, Texas. She is known for her novel, “The Island of the Beautiful” (1911), among other works. William Allen ‘Will’ Dromgoole passed on at 73 years of age on 1 September 1934 in Nashville, Tennessee, United States of America.
An old man, going down a lone highway,
Came at the evening, cold and gray,
To a chasm, vast and deep and wide,
Through which was flowing a sullen tide.
The old man crossed in the twilight dim -
That sullen stream had no fears for him;
But he turned, when he reached the other side,
And built a bridge to span the tide.
“Old man,” said a fellow pilgrim near,
“You are wasting strength in building here.
Your journey will end with the ending day;
You never again must pass this way.
You have crossed the chasm, deep and wide,
Why build you the bridge at the eventide?”
The builder lifted his old gray head.
“Good friend, in the path I have come,” he said,
“There followeth after me today
A youth whose feet must pass this way.
This chasm that has been naught to me
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building the bridge for him.
By Will Allen Dromgoole
William Allen ‘Will’ Dromgoole was born on 26 October 1860 in Murfreesboro, Tennessee, United States of America. She became a writer and a poet. She wrote more than 5,000 essays and more than 7,500 poems, and had 13 books published. She was the first woman officer in the United States Navy, and organized the Women’s Press Club of Waco. She taught school for a year in Tennessee and for a year in Temple, Texas. She is known for her novel, “The Island of the Beautiful” (1911), among other works. William Allen ‘Will’ Dromgoole passed on at 73 years of age on 1 September 1934 in Nashville, Tennessee, United States of America.
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Thinking
If you think you are beaten, you are
If you think you dare not, you don’t,
If you like to win, but you think you can’t
It is almost certain you won’t.
If you think you’ll lose, you’re lost
For out of the world we find,
Success begins with a fellow’s will
It’s all in the state of mind.
If you think you are outclassed, you are
You’ve got to think high to rise,
You’ve got to be sure of yourself before
You can ever win a prize.
Life’s battles don’t always go
To the stronger or faster man,
But soon or late the man who wins
Is the man who think he can!
By Walter D. Wintle: as published in the college magazine “Unity” (1905), a publication of the Unity Tract Society of the Unity School of Christianity
If you think you are beaten, you are
If you think you dare not, you don’t,
If you like to win, but you think you can’t
It is almost certain you won’t.
If you think you’ll lose, you’re lost
For out of the world we find,
Success begins with a fellow’s will
It’s all in the state of mind.
If you think you are outclassed, you are
You’ve got to think high to rise,
You’ve got to be sure of yourself before
You can ever win a prize.
Life’s battles don’t always go
To the stronger or faster man,
But soon or late the man who wins
Is the man who think he can!
By Walter D. Wintle: as published in the college magazine “Unity” (1905), a publication of the Unity Tract Society of the Unity School of Christianity
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Along The Way
The things I saw along the way
Were all that made the day a day.
I started out with mighty dreams
I set about my hopes and schemes.
And yet a rose upon a stem
Had not a thing to do with them.
I saw some youngsters playing ball.
That wasn’t part of it at all.
I even heard a bobolink
Or some such bird as that, I think.
Although my schemes said not a thing
About the way a bird can sing.
And I suspect, in fact I know
With life itself I’ll find it so,
That when it ends what I’ll recall
Is flowers and friends - not schemes at all.
I’ll find the things that made life’s day
Were little things along the way.
By Douglas Malloch
Douglas Malloch, Senior was born on 5 May 1877 in Muskegon, Michigan, United States of America. He grew up in the midst of logging camps, sawmills, and lumber yards. He became enamored with writing poems and stories about lumbering scenes and eventually became known as the ‘Lumbermen’s Poet.’ He wrote his first poem at 10 years of age, which was published in the “Detroit News.” After leaving school, he took a job on the editorial staff at the “Muskegon Chronicle,” where he remained for 13 years, becoming a reporter and feature writer for the paper. After leaving the “Muskegon Chronicle,” he joined the staff of the “American Lumberman” in 1903 as a syndicated columnist. Mr. Malloch soon became a popular and nationally renowned humorist, lecturer, and radio personality. His column was often written in the form of a poem and eventually the poems were collected into a series of books with “In Forest Land” (1906) being his first published work and a national best seller. Douglas Malloch, Senior passed on at 61 years of age on 2 July 1938 in Muskegon, Michigan, United States of America.
The things I saw along the way
Were all that made the day a day.
I started out with mighty dreams
I set about my hopes and schemes.
And yet a rose upon a stem
Had not a thing to do with them.
I saw some youngsters playing ball.
That wasn’t part of it at all.
I even heard a bobolink
Or some such bird as that, I think.
Although my schemes said not a thing
About the way a bird can sing.
And I suspect, in fact I know
With life itself I’ll find it so,
That when it ends what I’ll recall
Is flowers and friends - not schemes at all.
I’ll find the things that made life’s day
Were little things along the way.
By Douglas Malloch
Douglas Malloch, Senior was born on 5 May 1877 in Muskegon, Michigan, United States of America. He grew up in the midst of logging camps, sawmills, and lumber yards. He became enamored with writing poems and stories about lumbering scenes and eventually became known as the ‘Lumbermen’s Poet.’ He wrote his first poem at 10 years of age, which was published in the “Detroit News.” After leaving school, he took a job on the editorial staff at the “Muskegon Chronicle,” where he remained for 13 years, becoming a reporter and feature writer for the paper. After leaving the “Muskegon Chronicle,” he joined the staff of the “American Lumberman” in 1903 as a syndicated columnist. Mr. Malloch soon became a popular and nationally renowned humorist, lecturer, and radio personality. His column was often written in the form of a poem and eventually the poems were collected into a series of books with “In Forest Land” (1906) being his first published work and a national best seller. Douglas Malloch, Senior passed on at 61 years of age on 2 July 1938 in Muskegon, Michigan, United States of America.
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Words Of Orison S. Marden
If you have had an unfortunate experience, forget it. If you have made a failure in speech, your song, your book, your article, if you have been placed in an embarrassing position, if you have fallen and hurt yourself by a false step, if you have been slandered and abused, do not dwell upon it. There is not a single redeeming feature in these memories, and the presence of their ghosts will rob you of many a happy hour. There is nothing in it. Drop them. Forget them. Wipe them out of your mind forever. If you have been indiscreet, imprudent, if you have been talked about, if your reputation has been injured so that you fear you can never outgrow it or redeem it, do not drag the hideous shadows, the rattling skeletons about with you, Rub them off from the shite of memory. Wipe them out. Forget them. Start with a clean slate and spend all your energies in keeping it clean for the future.
By Orison S. Marden: “Masterful Personality” (1923)
Orison Swett Marden was born on 11 June 1848 in Thornton Gore, New Hampshire, United States of America. Despite having become an orphan at 7 years of age and having lived with several different guardians, he went on to achieve degrees in Medicine and Law at Harvard University. He became an inspirational writer and an editor. He wrote about how to achieve success in life, discussing common-sense principles and virtues that make for a well-rounded life. Many of his ideas are in support of the New Thought philosophy. He is known as the founder of “Success” magazine. Orison Swett Marden passed on at 75 years of age on 10 March 1924.
If you have had an unfortunate experience, forget it. If you have made a failure in speech, your song, your book, your article, if you have been placed in an embarrassing position, if you have fallen and hurt yourself by a false step, if you have been slandered and abused, do not dwell upon it. There is not a single redeeming feature in these memories, and the presence of their ghosts will rob you of many a happy hour. There is nothing in it. Drop them. Forget them. Wipe them out of your mind forever. If you have been indiscreet, imprudent, if you have been talked about, if your reputation has been injured so that you fear you can never outgrow it or redeem it, do not drag the hideous shadows, the rattling skeletons about with you, Rub them off from the shite of memory. Wipe them out. Forget them. Start with a clean slate and spend all your energies in keeping it clean for the future.
By Orison S. Marden: “Masterful Personality” (1923)
Orison Swett Marden was born on 11 June 1848 in Thornton Gore, New Hampshire, United States of America. Despite having become an orphan at 7 years of age and having lived with several different guardians, he went on to achieve degrees in Medicine and Law at Harvard University. He became an inspirational writer and an editor. He wrote about how to achieve success in life, discussing common-sense principles and virtues that make for a well-rounded life. Many of his ideas are in support of the New Thought philosophy. He is known as the founder of “Success” magazine. Orison Swett Marden passed on at 75 years of age on 10 March 1924.
