Humor [in a scene] is not jokes. It is that attitude toward being alive without which you would long ago have jumped off the 59th Street Bridge.
Betsy returned to her chair, took off her coat and hat, opened her book and forgot the world again.
It was June, and the world smelled of roses. The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside.
She tried to act as though it were nothing to go to the library alone. But her happiness betrayed her. Her smile could not be restrained, and it spread from her tightly pressed mouth, to her round cheeks, almost to the hair ribbons tied in perky bows over her ears.
You might as well learn right now, you two, that the poorest guide you can have in life is what people will say.
People were always saying to Margaret, 'Well, Julia sings and Betsy writes. Now what is little Margaret going to do?' Margaret would smile politely, for she was very polite, but privately she stormed to Betsy with flashing eyes, 'I'm not going to do anything. I want to just live. Can't people just live?
Isn't it mysterious to begin a new journal like this? I can run my fingers through the fresh clean pages but I cannot guess what the writing on them will be.
I do not enjoy the promotional side of being a writer, to be blunt about it. Even with the little amount that is expected of me, which is nothing compared to the life of an artist. Writers can live in obscurity and come out of the woodwork with a book, then go back in. Artists don’t have that luxury.
Peace is more difficult than war.
If we hold the married man accountable for finances gone legally awry, then the married woman should be held accountable for children who go awry.
Sweetness eliminates gravity and thus a man with a heavy burden of life starts feeling like floating in the air before sweetness.