Betsy returned to her chair, took off her coat and hat, opened her book and forgot the world again.

She thought of the library, so shining white and new; the rows and rows of unread books; the bliss of unhurried sojourns there and of going out to a restaurant, alone, to eat.

Good things come, but they're never perfect; are they? You have to twist them into something perfect.

Do you girls have hope chests?' Lloyd asked. We certainly do.' I don't,' said Betsy. 'My husband and I are going to use paper plates and napkins.' Poor Joe!' Lucky Larry!

And yet, even as she spoke, she knew that she did not wish to come back. not to stay, not to live. She loved the little yellow cottage more than she loved any place on earth. but she was through with it except in her memories.

I'm finished with something, but I'm not beginning anything. That's wrong. When you finish something, you ought always to begin something new.

You have two numbers in your age when you are ten. It's the beginning of growing up.