'Dear God,' she prayed, 'let me be something every minute of every hour of my life.'

We'll leave now, so that this moment will remain a perfect memory...let it be our song and think of me every time you hear it.

Brooklyn was a dream. All the things that happened there just couldn't happen. It was all dream stuff. Or was it all real and true and was it that she, Francie, was the dreamer?

New York! I've always wanted to see it and now I've see it. It's true what they say-- it's the most wonderful city in the world.

There are very few bad people. There are just a lot of people that are unlucky.

People always think that happiness is a faraway thing … something complicated and hard to get. Yet, what little things can make it up.

There's a tree that grows in Brooklyn. Some people call it the Tree of Heaven. No matter where its seed falls, it makes a tree which struggles to reach the sky. It grows in boarded-up lots and out of neglected rubbish heaps. It grows up out of cellar gratings. It is the only tree that grows out of cement. It grows lushly . . . survives without sun, water, and seemingly without earth. It would be considered beautiful except that there are too many of it.