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?

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

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

There is here, what is not in the old country. In spite of hard, unfamiliar things, there is here - hope. In the old country, a man can be no more than his father, providing he works hard. If his father was a carpenter, he may be a carpenter. He many not be a teacher or a priest. He may rise - but only to his father's state. In the old country, a man is given to the past. Here he belongs to the future. In this land, he may be what he will, if he has the good heart and the way of working honestly at the right things.

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

She was surprised at how tiny it seemed now. She supposed the school was just as big as it had ever been only her eyes had grown used to looking at bigger things.

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