Diamonds are considered the most famous and valuable jewel in the world. The precious stone for its great value is believed to be the symbol of wealth. Diamonds were made as a result of great volcanic beat and pressure. When a volcano is active, it sometimes explodes and causes great damage to the nearby towns.

    However, at the same time of such a disaster, diamonds were pushed towards the surface of the earth by a number of great volcanic explosions millions of years ago. Thus, it may be very likely to find a diamond after a volcanic eruption. Besides, diamonds are also found among the sand and stones of certain river beds, and in a few places on the floor of the sea, for they were washed down the mountain sides by the rain.

    Diamonds are very rare. There are not many places that produce such precious things in the world. During the last century adventurers from Europe went to Brazil, because they had heard that there were diamonds in the River Amazon. Many of these early diamond miners died of illness or were lost forever in the great forests. But some returned home rich.

    The earliest known diamonds were found in India many centuries ago. The most recent and exciting discoveries have been made in eastern Russia. But most of the world's diamonds now come from the Congo, from Tanzania-which has the largest diamond mine in the world and also from South Africa.

Dear Anne,

    I like your column very much. I met a girl four years ago at a gym. She was the one who originally approached me and we became good friends. Then one day, she made me really angry, so angry that I just left and we never saw each other again.

    Looking back, I really regret ending things that way. It was a cowardly act on my part, but I had a terrible temper at that time and let the smallest thing get to me. Recently, I've started thinking about her again and I looked up her e-mail address. I thought about writing to say “Hi” and apologize for what I did but I'm not sure. She could still be angry with me, or maybe she has forgotten me. I feel very lonely and I want to see her again. What should I do?

Tom

Dear Tom,

    She may still be angry with you, and she may have forgotten the friendship between you, but that doesn't mean she doesn't deserve an apology. Tom, how many of us have wished for the day that someone who treated us badly saw the light and finally owned up? But we rarely get that kind of expected result. So sure, e-mail her and say “Hi”.

    Tell her you have been thinking about her and just want to apologize for getting angry and being a coward by walking out on her. But you should remember if she thinks you're apologizing just because you are lonely, she might dismiss your sincerity. Therefore, don't mention that. If she wants to see you again, she'll make sure that happens.

    Even if she doesn't want to be your friend, I can assure you, she'll appreciate the gesture. And it might make you think twice next time you get angry.

Anne

    A few years ago I had an “aha!” moment regarding handwriting.

    I had in my hand a sheet of paper with handwritten instructions on it for some sort of editorial task. It occurred at first that I did not recognize the handwriting, and then I realized whose it must be. I finally became aware of the fact that I had been working with this colleague for at least a year, maybe two, and yet I did not recognize her handwriting at that point.

    It was a very important event in the computerization of life-a sign that the informal. Friendly communication of people working together in an office had changed from notes in pen to instant messages and emails. There was a time when our workdays were filled with little letters, and we recognized one another's handwriting the way we knew voices or faces.

    As a child visiting my father's office, I was pleased to recognize, in little notes on the desks of his staff, the same handwriting I would see at home in the notes he would leave on the fridge—except that those notes were signed “dad” instead of “RFW”.

    All this has been on my mind because of the talk about The Rise and Fall of Handwriting, a book by Florey. She shows in her book a deep concern about the fall of handwriting and the failure of schools to teach children to write well, but many others argue that people in a digital age can't be expected to learn to hold a pen.

    I don't buy it.

    I don't want to see anyone cut off from the expressive, personal associations that a pen still promotes better than a digital keyboard does. For many a biographer, part of really getting to know their subjects is learning to read their handwriting.

    What some people advocate is teaching one of the many attractive handwritings based on the handwriting of 16^th-century Italy. That may sound impossibly grand-as if they want kids to learn to draw by copying classical paintings. However, they have worked in many school systems.

    When I was six, Dad brought home a dog one day, who was called "Brownie". My brothers and I all loved Brownie and did different things with her. One of us would walk her, another would feed her, and then there were baths, playing catch and many other games. Brownie, in return, loved each and every one of us. One thing that most touched my heart was that she would go to whoever was sick and just be with him/her. We always felt better when she was around.

    One day, as I was getting her food, she chewed up (咬破) one of Dad's shoes, which had to be thrown away in the end. I knew Dad would be mad and I had to let her know what she did was wrong. When I looked at her and said "bad girl", she looked down at the ground and then went and hid. I saw a tear in her eyes.

    Brownie turned out to be more than just our family pet. She went everywhere with us. People would stop and ask if they could pet her. Of course she'd let anyone pet her. She was just the most lovable dog. There were many times when we'd be out walking and a small child would come over and pull on her hair. She never barked (吠叫) or tried to get away. The funny thing is she would smile. This frightened people because they thought she was showing her teeth. Far from the truth, she loved everyone.

    Now many years have passed since Brownie died of old age. I still miss the days when she was with us.

    It was rainy, and I had no desire to drive up the winding mountain road to my daughter Carolyn's house. But she had insisted that I come to see something at the top of the mountain.

    So here I was, reluctantly making the two-hour journey through fog that hung like veils. By the time I saw how thick it was near the summit, I'd gone too far to turn back.

    Nothing could be worth this, I thought as I inched along the dangerous highway.

    "I'll stay for lunch, but I' m heading back down as soon as the fog lifts," I announced when I arrived.

    "But I need you to drive me to the garage to pick up my car," Carolyn said, "Could we at least do that?"

    "How far is it?" I asked.

    "About three minutes," she said, "I'll drive—I'm used to it."

    After ten minutes on the mountain road, I looked at her anxiously. "I thought you said three minutes."

    She grinned. "This is a detour."

    Turning down a narrow track, we parked the car and got out. We walked along a path that was thick with old pine needles. Huge black-green evergreens towered over us. Gradually, the peace and silence of the place began to fill my mind.

    Then we turned a comer and stopped—and I gasped in amazement.

    From the top of the mountain, sloping for several acres across the mountain side and valleys, were rivers of flowers in numerous colors. It looked as though the sun had tipped over and spilled gold down the mountainside.

    A series of questions filled my mind. Who created such beauty? Why? How?

    As we approached the home that stood in the center of the property, we saw a sign that read: "Answers to the Questions I Know You Are Asking."

    The first answer was: "One Woman—Two Hands, Two Feet, and Very Little Brain." The second was: "One at a Time." The third: "Started in 1958."

    As we drove home, I was so moved by what we had seen. I could scarcely speak. "She changed the world." I finally said, "one bulb (球茎) at a time. She started almost 40 years ago, probably just the beginning of an idea, but she kept at it."

    The wonder of it would not let me go. "Imagine," I said, "if I'd had a vision and worked at it, just a little bit every day, what might I have accomplished?"

    Carolyn looked at me sideways, smiling. "Start tomorrow," she said. "Better yet, start today."

Sonya took Rupert, a rescue dog, back home three years ago, and soon found it liked attacking strangers and other animals, which she believed was caused by pain.

It took Sonya a year to develop a normal relationship with Rupert, during which she learned it was afraid of being left alone and also couldn't walk properly. Finally, she decided to take it to see a vet (兽医). After examining Rupert, the vet said its leg was broken, and it needed an immediate operation.

But when it had to go in for an operation on its leg, there was a problem—the vet Mike couldn't get near the dog. Mike and Sonya were left scratching their heads until one of them came up with an idea. Sonya said Rupert slept on a mouse suit so she suggested that Mike put it on.

At first, the dog barked wildly when Mike tried to operate on it in usual clothes. To make his patient feel at ease, Mike decided to dress up in the mouse clothes to see if it would be less worried. Amazingly, it worked. It stopped barking and immediately became good friends with Mike when he put on the suit. As a result, he was able to perform an operation on the leg safely and the result was quite satisfying.

After the successful operation, Mike hugged the dog around the neck, which isn't usually well-received by pets. Mike tried to be as respectful of its needs as possible and made time to give some attention. What Mike had done created a special experience or event in the dog's life.