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This is a book of memories, a book of sorrow and of tears. I cannot agree with those who pretend to laugh when
an affliction befalls them. To do so is to mock at the very mission of sorrow. To stifle grief, to suppress tears,
to enforce the semblance of sorrowlessness upon those who would be mourners, all this is an artificiality utterly
revolting to the universal susceptibility of the mind to sorrow. Rejoice with them that rejoice, weep with them
that weep. The mission of sorrow is to refine, ennoble and inspire. The possibilities of faith and hope are in
it. Through tears we see the sunshine of Love, through darkness we reach trusting hands and tuch God's own. May
the reading of these pages lead many to rise on stepping stones of their dead selves to higher things. Truly "heaviness
may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning"
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