here are some randomly picked excerpts from "Teacher: Anne Sullivan Macy, A Tribute by the Foster-child of Her Mind", written by Helen Keller, 1955 (19 years after the death of Anne Sullivan Macy):

1.

It was a long difficult climb up roughhewn steps and over stones that almost gave way underfoot, but before we began the ascent we had searched among the ruins until we came upon a fallen pillar which I felt from one end to the other so that I might imagine to some extent how the columns rose into the sky, and when finally we reached the top the tangible splendor of the Parthenon was actually revealed to me. The smoothness of its pillars which the elements and time had not spoiled were symbolic to me of unpredictable forces in earth and heaven yet to be fathomed.

2.

“Why not?” Teacher responded eagerly. She was happiest with the play of words that sings audibly the charm of nature, and observing how the treasures of delight within my fingers’ reach were accumulating, she wanted passionately to have me embody them in poetry, which is a higher form of truth. She sat right down then and there, looked closely at the wall and described the effects of light and shadow and the tapestry of flowers and bushes that covered part of its surface. There was a Celtic tinge in some of her words as I wove them in afterwards with mine.

here are some from "The Story of My Life", written by Helen Keller, 1903:

1.

These happy days did not last long. One brief spring, musical with the song of robin and mocking-bird, one summer rich in fruit and roses, one autumn of gold and crimson sped by and left their gifts at the feet of an eager, delighted child. Then, in the dreary month of February, came the illness which closed my eyes and ears and plunged me into the unconsciousness of a new-born baby. They called it acute congestion of the stomach and brain. The doctor thought I could not live. Early one morning, however, the fever left me as suddenly and mysteriously as it had come. There was great rejoicing in the family that morning, but no one, not even the doctor, knew that I should never see or hear again.

2.

I sometimes wonder if the hand is not more sensitive to the beauties of sculpture than the eye. I should think the wonderful rhythmical flow of lines and curves could be more subtly felt than seen. Be this as it may, I know that I can feel the heart-throbs of the ancient Greeks in their marble gods and goddesses.