A child her wayward pencil drew On margins of her book; Garlands of flower, dancing elves, Bud, butterfly, and brook, Lessons undone, and plum forgot, Seeking with hand and heart The teacher whom she learned to love Before she knew t'was Art.

I am not afraid of storms for I am learning how to sail my ship.

…because talent isn't genius, and no amount of energy can make it so. I want to be great, or nothing.

Oh dear, life is pretty tough sometimes, isn't it?

You are the gull, Jo, strong and wild, fond of the storm and the wind, flying far out to sea, and happy all alone.

…men never forgive like women.

...and best of all, the wilderness of books, in which she could wander, where she liked, made the library a region of bliss to her.