“It will be like a story from the Arabian Nights," he said. "Only an Oriental could have planned it. It does not belong to London fogs.”

“Oh,Sara. It is like a story." "It is a story...everything is a story. You are a story-I am a story. Miss Minchin is a story.”

“She wished she could talk as he did. His speech was so quick and easy. It sounded as if he liked her and was not the least afraid she would not like him, though he was only a common moor boy, in patched clothes and with a funny face and a rough, rusty-red head.”

“Is the spring coming?" he said. "What is it like?"..."It is the sun shining on the rain and the rain falling on the sunshine...”

“Everything's a story - You are a story -I am a story.”

“She says it has nothing to do with what you look like, or what you have. It has only to do with what you think of and what you do.”

“Listen to th' wind wutherin' round the house," she said. "You could bare stand up on the moor if you was out on it tonight."Mary did not know what "wutherin'" meant until she listened, and then she understood. It must mean that hollow shuddering sort of roar which rushed round and round the house, as if the giant no one could see were buffeting it and beating at the walls and windows to try to break in. But one knew he could not get in, and somehow it made one feel very safe and warm inside a room with a red coal fire.”