Yes， it is highly probable that Milton wrote better poetrybecause he was blind and that Beethoven composed better musicbecause he was deaf.
Helen Keller’s brilliant career was inspired and made possiblebecause of her blindness and deafness.
If Tchaikovsky had not been frustrated—and driven almostto suicide by his tragic marriage—if his own life had not beenpathetic， he probably would never have been able to compose hisimmortal “Symphonic Pathetique”。
If Dostoevsky and Tolstoy had not led tortured lives， they wouldprobably never have been able to write their immortal novels.
“If I had not been so great an invalid，” wrote the man whochanged the scientific concept of life on earth— “if I had not beenso great an invalid， I should not have done so much work as Ihave accomplished.” That was Charles Darwin’s confession thathis infirmities had helped him unexpectedly.
The same day that Darwin was born in England another babywas born in a log cabin in the forests of Kentucky. He， too， was helped by his infirmities. His name was Lincoln—AbrahamLincoln. If he had been reared in an aristocratic family and hadhad a law degree from Harvard and a happy married life， hewould probably never have found in the depths of his heart thehaunting words that he immortalised at Gettysburg， nor thesacred poem that he spoke at his second inauguration—the mostbeautiful and noble phrases ever uttered by a ruler of men： “Withmalice toward none; with charity for all…”
Harry Emerson Fosdick says in his book， The Power to Seeit Through; “There is a Scandinavian saying which some of usmight well take as a rallying cry for our lives： ‘the north windmade the Vikings.’ Wherever did we get the idea that secure andpleasant living， the absence of difficulty， and the comfort of ease，ever of themselves made people either good or happy? Upon thecontrary， people who pity themselves go on pitying themselveseven when they are laid softly on a cushion， but always in historycharacter and happiness have come to people in all sorts ofcircumstances， good， bad， and indifferent， when they shoulderedtheir personal responsibility. So， repeatedly the north wind hasmade the Vikings.”
Suppose we are so discouraged that we feel there is no hope ofour ever being able to turn our lemons into lemonade-then hereare two reasons why we ought to try， anyway—two reasons whywe have everything to gain and nothing to lose.
Reason one： We may succeed.
Reason two： Even if we don’t succeed， the mere attempt toturn our minus into a plus will cause us to look forward insteadof backward; it will replace negative thoughts with positivethoughts; it will release creative energy and spur us to get so busythat we won’t have either the time or the inclination to mournover what is past and for ever gone.
Once when Ole Bull， the world-famous violinist， was givinga concert in Paris， the A string on his violin suddenly snapped.
But Ole Bull simply finished the melody on three strings. “Thatis life，” says Harry Emerson Fosdick， “to have your A string snapand finish on three strings.”
That is not only life. It is more than life. It is life triumphant！
If I had the power to do so， I would have these words of WilliamBolitho carved in eternal bronze and hung in every schoolhouse inthe land：
The most important thing in life is not to capitalize on yourgains. Any fool can do that. The really important thing is to profitfrom your losses. That requires intelligence; and it makes thedifference between a man of sense and a fool.
So， to cultivate a mental attitude that will bring us peace andhappiness， let’s do something about Rule 6：When fate hands us a lemon， let’s try to make a lemonade.
Chapter 48
How To Cure Melancholy in Fourteen Days
When I started writing this book， I offered a two-hundreddollar prize for the most helpful and inspiring true story on “HowI Conquered Worry”。
The three judges for this contest were： Eddie Rickenbacker，president， Eastern Air Lines; Dr. Stewart W. McClelland，president， Lincoln Memorial University; H. V. Kaltenborn， radionews analyst. However， we received two stories so superb that thejudges found it impossible to choose between them. So we dividedthe prize. Here is one of the stories that tied for first prize—thestory of C. R. Burton.
“I lost my mother when I was nine years old， and my fatherwhen I was twelve，” Mr. Burton wrote me. “My father was killed，but my mother simply walked out of the house one day nineteenyears ago; and I have never seen her since. Neither have I everseen my two little sisters that she took with her. She never evenwrote me a letter until after she had been gone seven years. Myfather was killed in an accident three years after Mother left. Heand a partner bought a cafe in a small Missouri town; and whileFather was away on a business trip， his partner sold the cafe forcash and skipped out. A friend wired Father to hurry back home;and in his hurry， Father was killed in a car accident at Salinas，Kansas. Two of my father’s sisters， who were poor and old andsick took three of the children into their homes. Nobody wantedme and my little brother. We were left at the mercy of the town.
We were haunted by the fear of being called orphans and treated as orphans. Our fears soon materialised， too. I lived for a littlewhile with a poor family in town. But times were hard and thehead of the family lost his job， so they couldn’t afford to feed meany longer. Then Mr. and Mrs. Loftin took me to live with themon their farm eleven miles from town. Mr. Loftin was seventyyears old， and sick in bed with shingles. He told me I could staythere ‘as long as I didn’t lie， didn’t steal， and did as I was told’。
Those three orders became my Bible. I lived by them strictly. Istarted to school， but the first week found me at home， bawlinglike a baby. The other children picked on me and poked fun atmy big nose and said I was dumb and called me an ‘orphan brat’。