Send me all the advice you like. I'll use as much as I can.
…but mortal man was helpless there…
I don't believe fine young ladies enjoy themselves a bit more than we do, in spite of our burned hair, old gowns, one glove apiece, and tight slippers that sprain our ankles when we are silly enough t...
Boys don't gush, so I can stand it. The last time I let in a party of girls, one fell into my arms and said, Darling, love me! I wanted to shake her,' answered Mrs. Jo, wiping her pen with energy.
…books are always good company if you have the right sort. Let me pick out some for you.' And Mrs. Jo made a bee-line to the well-laden shelves, which were the joy of her heart and the comfort of her...
If all literary women had such thoughtful angels for husbands, they would live longer and write more. Perhaps that wouldn't be such a blessing to the world though, as most of us write too much now,' s...
Mr. Bhaer saw the drops on her cheeks, ... The sight seemed to touch him very much, for suddenly stooping down, he asked in a tone that meant a great deal, Heart's dearest, why do you cry?Now, if Jo h...
I am not afraid of storms for I am learning how to sail my ship.
Each of you told what your burden was just now, except Beth. I rather think she hasn't got any, said her mother. Yes, I have. Mine is dishes and dusters, and envying girls with nice pianos, and being...
Ridicule is often harder to bear than self-denial.
Mrs. Jo did not mean the measles, but that more serious malady called love, which is apt to ravage communities, spring and autumn, when winter gayety and summer idleness produce whole bouquets of enga...
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)
How little it takes to make a young girl happy! A pretty dress, sunshine, and somebody opposite, and they are blest.
We thought to weep, but sing for joy instead,Full of the grateful peaceThat follows her release;For nothing but the weary dust lies dead.
…the child's heart bled when it was broken.
Mine first --mine last-- mine even in the grave!
She preferred imaginary heroes to real ones, because when tired of them, the former could be shut up in the tin kitchen till called for, and the latter were less manageable.
Who are your heroes?" asked Jo."Grandfather and Napoleon.
Mr. Bhaer saw the drops on her cheeks, ... The sight seemed to touch him very much, for suddenly stooping down, he asked in a tone that meant a great deal, "Heart's dearest, why do you cry?"Now, if Jo...
If life is often so hard as this, I don't see how we ever shall get through it…