Soldiers don't complain...I am not going to do it; I will pretend this is part of a war.

I don't know who it is," she said; "but somebody cares for me a little. I have a friend.

The truth is that when one is still a child-or even if one is grown up- and has been well fed, and has slept long and softly and warm; when one has gone to sleep in the midst of a fairy story, and has wakened to find it real, one cannot be unhappy or even look as if one were; and one could not, if one tried, keep a glow of joy out of one's eyes.

That's what I look at some people for. I like to know about them. I think them over afterward.

She liked books more than anything else, and was, in fact, always inventing stories of beautiful things and telling them to herself.

People never like me and I never like people," she thought. "And I never can talk as the Crawford children could. They were always talking and laughing and making noises.

Folks who make such a fuss about their rights turn them into wrongs sometimes. -- (from Behind the White Brick)