Betsy. The great war is on but I hope ours is over. Please come home. Joe.

Come in early, so there'll be time to pop corn,' Mrs. Ray said. If she mentioned popping corn, they always came in early. So she usually mentioned it.

I cannot remember back to a year in which I did not consider myself to be a writer, and the younger I was the bigger that capital 'W.

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

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

The wastes of snow on the hill were ghostly in the moonlight. The stars were piercingly bright.

When there are boys you have to worry about how you look, and whether they like you, and why they like another girl better, and whether they're going to ask you to something or other. It's a strain.