All of us are what we have to be and everyone lives the kind of life its in him to live.

The library was a little old shaby place. Francie thought it was beautiful. The feeling she had about it was as good as the feeling she had about church. She pushed open the door and went in. She liked the cmbined smell of worn leather bindings, library past and freshly inked stamping pads better than she liked the smell of burning incense at high mass.

Oh time...time, pass so that I forget! Oh time, Great Healer, pass over me and let me forget.

No. I don't want to need anybody. I want someone to need me ... I want someone to need me.

I came to a clear conclusion, and it is a universal one: To live, to struggle, to be in love with life--in love with all life holds, joyful or sorrowful--is fulfillment. The fullness of life is open to all of us.

The world was hers for the reading.

She had had the pain; it had been like being boiled alive in scalding oil and not being able to die to get free of it