There is often a good deal of the child left in people who have had to grow up too soon.

The end is nothing; the road is all.

Some people's lives are affected by what happens to their person or their property; but for others fate is what happens to their feelings and their thoughts -- that and nothing more.

Sometimes I wonder why God ever trusts talent in the hands of women, they usually make such an infernal mess of it. I think He must do it as a sort of ghastly joke.

Nothing mattered ... but writing books, and living the kind of life that made it possible to write them.

In little towns, lives roll along so close to one another; loves and hates beat about, their wings almost touching.

She had only to stand in the orchard, to put her hand on a little crab tree and look up at the apples, to make you feel the goodness of planting and tending and harvesting at last.