Wild Roses Are Fairest, And Nature A

I Keep Turning Over New Leaves, And Spoiling Them, As I Used To Spoil My Copybooks; And I Make So Many Beginnings There Never Will Be An End. (jo March)

Some Books Are So Familiar That Reading Them Is Like Being Home Again.

I Went [to War] Because I Couldn't Help It. I Didn't Want The Glory Or The Pay; I Wanted The Right Thing Done.

The Clocks Were Striking Midnight And The Rooms Were Very Still As A Figure Glided Quietly From Bed To Bed, Smoothing A Coverlid Here, Settling A Pillow There, And Pausing To Look Long And Tenderly At Each Unconscious Face, To Kiss Each With Lips That Mutely Blessed, And To Pray The Fervent Prayers Which Only Mothers Utter.

Meg's High-heeled Slippers Were Dreadfully Tight, And Hurt Her, Though She Would Not Own It; And Jo's Nineteen Hair-pins All Seemed Stuck Straight Into Her Head, Which Was Not Exactly Comfortable; But, Dear Me, Let Us Be Elegant Or Die.