I've loved my mother's desk since I was just tall enough to see above the top of it as mother sat doing letters. Standing by her chair, looking at the ink bottle, pens, and white paper, I decided that the act of writing must be the most wonderful thing in the world. Years later, during her final illness, mother kept different things for my sister and brother. “But the desk,” she would say again, “it's for Elizabeth.” I never saw her be angry, and never saw her cry. I knew she loved me—she showed it in action. But as a young girl, I wanted heart-to-heart talks between mother and daughter. They never happened. And a gulf opened between us. I was “too emotional(易动感情的)”. But she lived “on the surface(表面)”. As years passed I had my own family. I loved my mother and thanked her for our happy family. I wrote to her in careful words and asked her to let me know in any way she chose that she did forgive(原谅) me. I posted the letter and waited for her answer. None came. My hope turned to disappointment(失望), then little interest and, finally, peace— it seemed that nothing happened. I couldn't be sure that the letter had even got to mother. I only knew that I had written it, and I could stop trying to make her into someone she was not. Now the present of her desk told, as she'd never been able to, that she was pleased that writing was my chosen work. I cleaned the desk carefully and found some papers inside —a photo of my father and a one-page letter, folded(折叠) and refolded many times. Give me an answer, my letter asks, in any way you choose. Mother, you always chose the act that speaks louder than words.

    A poor farmer had a friend who was famous for the wonderful apple trees he grew.

    One day, his friend gave the farmer a young apple tree and told him to plant it. The farmer was pleased with the gift, but he did not know where to plant it.

    He was afraid that if he planted the tree near the road, strangers would steal the fruit. If he planted the tree in one of his fields, his neighbours would come at night and steal some of the apples. If he planted the tree near his house, his children would take the fruit. Finally he planted the tree in his woods. But without sunlight and good soil(土壤), the tree soon died.

    Later the friend asked the farmer why he had planted the tree in such a poor place. "What's the difference?" the farmer said angrily and then told what he had thought.

    "Yes, "said the friend, "but at least someone could have enjoyed the fruit. Now you not only have robbed everyone of the fruit, but also you have destroyed(毁掉) a good apple tree!"

    Sixteen years ago a boy gave me an important gift. It was a smile.

    It was the early autumn of my first year at a middle school, and my old school was far away. As a result, no one knew who I was. I was very lonely, and afraid to speak to anyone.

    Every time I heard the other students talking and laughing, I felt my heart break. I couldn't talk with anyone about my problems.

    Then one day, when my classmates were talking happily with their friends, I was sitting at my desk unhappily as usual. At that moment, a boy entered the classroom. I didn't know who he was. He passed by me and then turned back. He looked at me, with a smile.

    Suddenly, I felt the touch of something bright and friendly. It made me feel happy and warm. That smile changed my life. I started to talk with other students and made friends. Day by day, I became closer to everyone in my class. The boy with the lucky smile has become my best friend now.

    One day I asked him why he had smiled, but he couldn't remember doing so!

    It doesn't matter because all the dark days have gone. I believe that the world is what you think it is. If you think it is lonely, you might always be alone. So smile at the world and it will smile back.