I think that love is more like a light that you carry. At first childish happiness keeps it lighted and after that romance. Then motherhood lights it and then duty . . . and maybe after that sorrow. You wouldn't think that sorrow could be a light, would you, dearie? But it can. And then after that, service lights it. Yes. . . . I think that is what love is to a woman . . . a lantern in her hand.

Biggest affirmative argument I know in favor of 'If a man die, shall he live again?' is just the way you feel inside you that nothin' can stop you from livin' on.

There is no division nor subtraction in the heart-arithmetic of a good mother. There are only addition and multiplication.

It is better to remember our love as it was in the springtime.

It takes a small town to keep you humble.

They are the most painful tears in the world ... the tears of the aged ... for they come from dried beds where the emotions have long burned low.

You have to dream things out. It keeps a kind of an ideal before you. You see it first in your mind and then you set about to try and make it like the ideal. If you want a garden,-why, I guess you've got to dream a garden.