“We have to build our lives out of what materials we have. It's as though we were given a heap of blocks and told to build a house.”

“Well, Betsy," he said, "your mother tells me that you are going to use Uncle Keith's trunk for a desk. That's fine. You need a desk. I've often noticed how much you like to write. The way you eat up those advertising tablets from the store! I never saw anything like it. I can't understand it though. I never write anything but checks myself. ""Bob!" said Mrs. Ray. "You wrote the most wonderful letters to me before we were married. I still have them, a big bundle of them. Every time I clean house I read them over and cry.""Cry, eh?" said Mr. Ray, grinning. "In spite of what your mother says, Betsy, if you have any talent for writing, it comes from family. Her brother Keith was mighty talented, and maybe you are too. Maybe you're going to be a writer."Betsy was silent, agreeably abashed."But if you're going to be a writer," he went on, "you've got to read. Good books. Great books. The classics.”

“They soon stopped being ten years old. But whatever age they were seemed to be exactly the right age for having fun.”

“You have two numbers in your age when you are ten. It's the beginning of growing up.”

“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?”

“Carney was hatless and gloveless, wearing her pink linen. Sam looked at her more than once.“its just because he likes pink,” she told herself.”

“You might as well learn right now, you two, that the poorest guide you can have in life is what people will say.”