“Daddy dear, I'm only fourAnd I'd rather not be more.Four's the nicest age to be,Two and two and one and three.What I love is two and two,Mother, Peter, Phil, and you.What you love is one and three,Mother, Peter, Phil, and me.Give your little girl a kissBecause she learned and told you this.”

“Don't you think it's rather nice to think that we're in a book that God's writing? If I were writing a book, I might make mistakes. But God knows how to make the story end just right--in the way that's best for us."Do you really believe that, Mother?" Peter asked quietly.Yes," she said, "I do believe it--almost always--except when I'm so sad that I can't believe anything. But even when I don't believe it, I know it's true--and I try to believe it.”

“Our darling Roberta,No sorrow shall hurt herIf we can prevent itHer whole life long.Her birthday's our fete day,We'll make it our great day,And give her our presentsAnd sing her our song.May pleasures attend herAnd may the Fates send herThe happiest journeyAlong her life's way.With skies bright above herAnd dear ones to love her!Dear Bob! Many happyReturns of the day!”

“They call it love," said Vernon. "I don't know what they mean by it. What do you mean [by love]?""I don't exactly know," said Temple slowly. "I suppose it's wanting to be with a person, and thinking about nothing else. And thinking they're the most beautiful and all that. And going over everything that they've ever said to you, and wanting— Well, I suppose if it's really love you want to marry them.”

“everything has an end, and you get to it if you only keep all on.”

“I don't agree with you in the least," said Temple— "about marriage, I mean. A man ought to want to get married—" "To anybody? Without its being anybody in particular?" "Yes," said Temple stoutly. "If he gets to thirty without wanting to marry any one in particular, he ought to look about till he finds some one he does want. It's the right and proper thing to marry and have kiddies.”

“This is why I shall not tell you in this story about all the days when nothing happened. You will not catch me saying, 'thus the sad days passed slowly by'--or 'the years rolled on their weary course'--or 'time went on'--because it is silly; of course time goes on--whether you say so or not. So I shall just tell you the nice, interesting parts--and in between you will understand that we had our meals and got up and went to bed, and dull things like that.”