She Is Too Fond Of Books, And

Every Few Weeks She Would Shut Herself Up In Her Room, Put On Her Scribbling Suit, And Fall Into A Vortex, As She Expressed It, Writing Away At Her Novel With All Her Heart And Soul, For Till That Was Finished She Could Find No Peace.

The Humblest Tasks Get Beautified If Loving Hands Do Them.

No Woman Should Give Her Happiness Into The Keeping Of A Man Without Fixed Principles.

November Is The Most Disagreeable Month In The Whole Year," Said Margaret, Standing At The Window One Dull Afternoon, Looking Out At The Frostbitten Garden. "that's The Reason I Was Born In It," Observed Jo Pensively, Quite Unconscious Of The Blot On Her Nose.

And The Good Fairy Said, I Won't Leave You Money Or Pretty Dresses But I Will Leave You The Spirit To Seek Your Fortune From Your Own Efforts.