The wastes of snow on the hill were ghostly in the moonlight. The stars were piercingly bright. — Maud Hart Lovelace Copy Share Image
Then he kissed her. Betsy didn't believe in letting boys kiss you. She thought it was silly to be letting first this boy and… — Maud Hart Lovelace Copy Share Image
“Betsy was so full of joy that she had to be alone. She went upstairs to her bedroom and sat down on Uncle Keith's… — Maud Hart Lovelace Copy Share Image
The silence in the room had width, height, depth, mass and substance. — Maud Hart Lovelace Copy Share Image
Was life always like that? she wondered. A game of hide and seek in which you only occasionally found the person you wanted to… — Maud Hart Lovelace Copy Share Image
Isn't it mysterious to begin a new journal like this? I can run my fingers through the fresh clean pages but I cannot guess… — Maud Hart Lovelace Copy Share Image
“...the poorest guide you can have in life is what people will say - Mr. Ray, Heaven to Betsy” — Maud Hart Lovelace Copy Share Image
“This was Betsy and Tacy's private corner. Betsy's mother was a great believer in people having private corners, and the piano box was plainly… — Maud Hart Lovelace Copy Share Image
“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… — Maud Hart Lovelace Copy Share Image
Betsy. The great war is on but I hope ours is over. Please come home. Joe. — Maud Hart Lovelace Copy Share Image
“You don't grow up, she reasoned now, until you begin to evaluate yourself, to recognize your good traits and acknowledge that you have a… — Maud Hart Lovelace Copy Share Image
I cannot remember back to a year in which I did not consider myself to be a writer, and the younger I was the… — Maud Hart Lovelace Copy Share Image
