101 things from this book went into her brain. Here are the first 6.
Russell H. Conwell held that every town fails to do something, and that the chance to make more of yourself usually lies in your own surroundings, with your own skill, energy and friends.
In Acres of Diamonds, Ali Hafed grows poor not from losing anything but from discontent, fearing he is poor and so wanting more.
In Acres of Diamonds, Ali Hafed sells his farm to chase a fortune far away and ends in ruin, a warning against overlooking what is already yours.
Conwell's old guide held that Ali Hafed could have found his acres of diamonds by digging on land he already owned, since the treasure lay in the ground under his own feet.
Conwell warns that leaving one job before you have another is a foolish move, so secure the next step before you let go of the current one.
In Acres of Diamonds, the farmer learns oil from its origins to its refining, so that he can honestly say he understands the business before he asks for work in it.
In Acres of Diamonds, a young mining engineer turns down a raise he thinks too small and runs off after riches, while his mother reminds him that being happy matters as much as being rich.
Conwell tells of a mineralogy professor who sold his family homestead while a block of silver sat in its stone wall, because he never looked at what was in front of him.
Conwell admits that we all overlook what is near us, so we have little right to laugh at the man who sold the silver without looking.
Conwell notes that young people are the most open to opportunity, because they have not yet grown into prejudices or customs they cannot break.
Conwell holds that getting rich honestly is a worthy aim, and that ordinary people with little capital can find real chances to build wealth where they already live.
Conwell argues that money is a kind of power, and that a person can do more good with it than without it, as long as the spirit using it is right.
Conwell points out that the Bible warns about the love of money, not money itself, and that quoting a source carefully matters more than quoting it quickly.
Conwell says the real danger with money is idolising it, hoarding it instead of asking what it is for, and he counts that miserly habit as the root of evil.
Drawing on his father's country store, Conwell admits that turning customers away with a shrug is poor business, and that a shop should meet what its neighbours actually need.
Conwell argues that a fair profit is honest, but each sale should leave the buyer as well served as the seller, so both can prosper.
Conwell holds that treating others fairly and sharing the gains gives a clear conscience and is the surest road to lasting wealth, while urging people to enjoy life along the way.
Conwell says a business succeeds when its owner takes a real interest in the neighbours who buy from them, learning their needs, rather than shrugging off their affairs.
Conwell argues that capital is not what makes a person rich, and that inherited money can be a burden to someone who has not yet grown through their own experience.
Conwell says the deepest satisfaction comes from a home you have earned yourself, saved for step by step, rather than one handed to you.
Conwell says a rich man's son gains the discipline of hard work only by starting at the bottom, as the elder Vanderbilt did, rather than by being handed everything.
Conwell tells how A. T. Stewart, after a costly early loss on goods nobody wanted, learnt that success comes from first finding out what people need and then supplying it.
Conwell argues that who you are matters more than where you are, and that a person who cannot get rich in one city is unlikely to find it in a bigger one.
John Jacob Astor saved a failing millinery shop by watching what customers liked and having the stock made only to match it, rather than pouring in more money.
Conwell says that knowing what people need is worth more than any amount of capital, because it tells you where a fortune is before you spend a dollar.
Conwell tells of a Hingham carpenter who learnt what to make by asking his own children, judging what others want by what his own household wanted.
Conwell notes that a person who quietly makes up their mind to act, and says nothing about it, usually does it, as the woman who improved the collar button did.
Conwell says wealth is often too near to see, and that people look straight over the opportunity sitting right under their own chin.
Conwell says greatness is usually plain, practical and easy to overlook in the neighbours we see every day, so the great people around us are often unrecognised.
Conwell confesses he was more afraid walking into the President's office than under shellfire, and says courage is simply going in anyway, even when you feel afraid.
Conwell says Abraham Lincoln's rule for greatness was to put his whole mind into whatever he had to do, and hold it there until the task was finished.
Conwell tells of an injured factory worker who put a rubber on the end of a stick to erase faster, and whose daughter saw that the idea was worth protecting, so useful ideas often come out of ordinary work.
Conwell argues that communities fall behind when their own people talk their city down, and that people should talk up and back what they already have.
Conwell says that if you are not great before you get an office, you will not be great when you hold it, so greatness has to come first.
Conwell argues that a humble person who does their full duty deserves as much honour as the leader in front, and that history too often credits only one name.
Conwell tells of a man who won a speaking role through his office but had never practised speaking, and says a title does not make a speaker, which takes practice from the start.
Conwell says the real honour belongs to the ordinary soldiers doing their duty, who are often forgotten when all the praise goes to one leader at the front.
Conwell concludes that greatness comes from doing great deeds from ordinary life, and that anyone who wants to be great must begin where they are, by making their own town better.
Robert Shackleton says Conwell's power lay in making his church and talks interesting, so attention came first and inspiration followed, as Howells had noticed of the Lexington congregation.
Robert Shackleton describes Conwell as a dreamer whose dreams became facts, because he paired his vision with practical effort, patience and earnestness.
Conwell admits he once mocked his devout young servant for reading the Bible, and that the servant's steady faithfulness outlasted the mockery, showing how much patience and kindness can teach.
Shackleton relates that after a young friend died for him, Conwell vowed to live his own life and the friend's too, a vow that shaped everything he did afterwards.
Shackleton argues that Conwell's real force in the world came from who he was, not from his office as a minister, since his character did the work.
Shackleton notes that as a lawyer Conwell would take only cases he believed were right, and would not fight on the wrong side, however good the fee.
Shackleton recounts that Conwell defended a wrongly accused young man, who later confessed and lived honestly, suggesting that a fair hearing can turn a person toward honesty.
Shackleton recounts that Lincoln, after a clumsy start, set aside his written speech and spoke freely with conviction, a lesson in trusting your own voice when it counts.
Shackleton tells of Conwell asking a dwindling Lexington congregation why not start over, showing how one leader's question can turn a sense of ending into a new beginning.
Shackleton tells how Conwell began tearing down a rundown church before anyone else arrived, and how his visible commitment drew a donor, showing that effort often attracts the help it needs.
Conwell kept quietly at the work while doubters said the money would never come, and his steady effort won the doubters over, a lesson in showing commitment rather than arguing for it.
Shackleton says Conwell's triumphs came from putting his enthusiasm into others, so that each step forward was shared with the people around him rather than carried alone.
Conwell tells of a little girl who saved pennies for a church building she would not live to see, showing how small, steady gifts can build something that lasts.
Shackleton describes how Conwell's church inscribed the name of every helper, even those who gave a single dollar, into its walls, to show that the house belongs to the people who built it.
Conwell argues that aiming big can be the safer course, since a modest building would have left his church weighed down by debt for years.
Conwell wrote that enthusiasm invites enthusiasm, and that a speaker must have a large-hearted regard for the audience, which he treated as the heart of good oratory.
Conwell's advice to speakers is to be truthful and scrupulously clear, and to use illustrations that really illustrate the point, not decorate it.
Conwell wrote that a man has no right to use words carelessly, and that a speaker should be intensely in earnest, a principle he lived by in both pulpit and conversation.
Shackleton describes Conwell aiming to preach so simply that listeners felt they were hearing a friend, and holding that everything should be put so that all can understand it.
Conwell turned a dry line of scripture into a living picture by naming the little church on the hill, showing that a concrete image makes an idea come alive for listeners.
Shackleton notes that people who do big things also keep hold of small details, such as the exact street number a funeral needed, and that attention to detail earns trust.
Conwell's favourite maxim, trust in God and do the next thing, is a plain way to keep moving through difficulty without waiting to see the whole path ahead.
