“I wouldn't want a boy to think I was pretty unless he was the kind of boy who thought I was pretty.”

“I think it's very pretty.Can it be pretty if no one thinks it's pretty?I think it's pretty.If you're the only one?That's pretty pretty.And what about the boys? Don't you want them to think you're pretty?I wouldn't want a boy to think I was pretty unless he was the kind of boy who thought I was pretty.”

“The last living boy in America drops into my bedroom only he wants to be a monk. I think that pretty much sums up my life.”

“Here's the thing: I am not beautiful. I'm pretty. I'll allow that much. Pretty. But I'm not the girl boys long for.”

“Sometimes," I ventured, "it doesn't occur to boys that their mother was ever young and pretty. . . I couldn't stand it if you boys were inconsiderate, or thought of her as if she were just somebody who looked after you. You see I was very much in love with your mother once, and I know there's nobody like her...”

“Don't take this the wrong way," Blue replied. Her cheeks felt a little warm, but she was well into this conversation and she couldn't back down now. "Because I know you're going to think I feel bad about it, and I don't." "All right." "Because I'm not pretty. Not in the way Aglionby boys seem to lie." "I go to Aglionby," Adam said. Adam did not seem to go to Aglinoby like other boys went to Aglionby. "I think you're pretty," he said.”