Brooklyn Was A Dream. All The Things

From That Time On, The World Was Hers For The Reading. She Would Never Be Lonely Again, Never Miss The Lack Of Intimate Friends. Books Became Her Friends And There Was One For Every Mood.

A Person Who Pulls Himself Up From A Low Environment Via The Bootstrap Route Has Two Choices. Having Risen Above His Environment, He Can Forget It; Or, He Can Rise Above It And Never Forget It And Keep Compassion And Understanding In His Heart For Those He Has Left Behind Him In The Cruel Upclimb.

It's A Beautiful Religion And I Wish I Understood It More. No, I Don't Want To Understand It All. It's Beautiful Because It's Always A Mystery. Sometimes I Say I Don't Believe In God And Jesus And Mary. I'm A Bad Catholic Because I Miss Mass Once In A While And I Grumble When, At Confession, I Get A Heavy Penance For Something I Couldn't Help Doing. But Good Or Bad, I Am A Catholic And I'll Never Be Anything Else. Of Course, I Didn't Ask To Be Born Catholic, No More Than I Asked To Be Born American. But I'm Glad It Turned Out That I'm Both These Things.

Yes, When I Get Big And Have My Own Home, No Plush Chairs And Lace Curtains For Me. And No Rubber Plants. I'll Have A Desk Like This In My Parlor And White Walls And A Clean Green Blotter Every Saturday Night And A Row Of Shining Yellow Pencils Always Sharpened For Writing And A Golden-brown Bowl With A Flower Or Some Leaves Or Berries Always In It And Books . . . Books . . . Books. . . .

Someday You'll Remember What I Said And You'll Thank Me For It." Francie Wished Adults Would Stop Telling Her That. Already The Load Of Thanks In The Future Was Weighing Her Down. She Figured She'd Have To Spend The Best Years Of Her Womanhood Hunting Up People To Tell Them That They Were Right And To Thank Them.