Boston University - HUB Yearbook (Boston, MA)

Page 12 text:

The scene changes, but the aspirations of men of good will persist. Vannevar Bush The city and the University are participat- ing in an agonizing reappraisal of their purposes, their human atmospheres, their facilities for implementation of new ideas. Our proximity to great varieties of landscape has nurtured usg deserted Cape Cod beaches, mountains to the north, and villages long her- alded by painters and writers, are witnesses to a unique kind of diversity. At the same time, as we have learned to see our environment in many new scales of speed and magnitude, we find ourselves enabled to change it more quickly and more profoundly than ever before. To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly. Henri Bergson To be called to the Presidency of Boston Uni- versity requires devotion, judgment, patience, experience, and other talents of the highest order. It is unique among institutions. It follows no beaten path, but blazes its own. Iohn L. Bates Governor of Massachusetts at the installation of Lemuel Murlin as President of Boston University, 1912. All the genuine, deep delight of life is in show- ing people the mud-pies you have made: and life is at its best when we confidingly recommend our mud-pies to each other's sympathetic con- sideration. I. M. Thorburn This book is a mud-pie made unknowingly by the class of 1966, over a course of four years. Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning. Winston Churchill Pedro Novak To President Harold C. Case, President of Boston Univer- sity, with gratitude for his leadership in the creation of an environment in which the intellect can perform.

Page 14 text:

,,,,.,..1--:- Douglas I. Parke New England Villanelle Scituate, 1964 The falling snow like sculptured silver leaves that stop first on my cheeks and in my hair is falling on the part of me that grieves. The bare tree with its twisting branches weaves a tapestry of night's most chilling blues and falling snow like sculptured silver leaves. The icicles that hang from cottage eaves like delicate stilettos, with the snow are falling on the part of me that grieves. The blackbirds hover in the air like thieves with nothing left to snatch up in their beaks but falling snow like sculptured silver leaves. The cold goes down my boots and up my sleeves but no more chilling than those drops of ice falling on the part of me that grieves. Yet something in my ice-burnt heart receives a message from the cluttered warmth of spring- while falling snow like sculptured silver leaves is falling on the part of me that grieves. Margery Cooper CLA '67 An Old Man of the Valley It is more the mountain shapes, he said. I could move away, except for them, people have a way of changing, but the mountains stay the same. Behind you there is Equinox, and on beyond is part of Killington, but only when the winter is in profile. The hazy tiger kitten to the east is Greylock, with the granite back. Toward Anthony are meadowlarks and fields that lead down to the valley: steeples, smoke and on the facing hills are Colgate's cows. Those cows were there the day I first looked up from town-the same ones, I suspect, as now- but, no, that's an old man sounding oldg cows change, like people. I came up from town for air and new light on the mountains, but new outlines would have been too much. A peak takes years to know. Alice K. Armstrong CLA '66