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 what the writing on them will be.

— Maud Hart Lovelace

It looks like something out of Whittier's "Snowbound,"' Julia said. Julia could always think of things like that to say.

— Maud Hart Lovelace

It was June, and the world smelled of roses. The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside.

— Maud Hart Lovelace

Julia was as happy as Betsy was, almost. One nice thing about Julia was that she rejoiced in other people's luck.

— Maud Hart Lovelace

Our lives can hold just so much. If they're filled with one thing, they can't be filled with another. We ought to do a lot of thinking about what we want to fill them with.

— Maud Hart Lovelace

She tried to act as though it were nothing to go to the library alone. But her happiness betrayed her. Her smile could not be restrained, and it spread from her tightly pressed mouth, to her round cheeks, almost to the hair ribbons tied in perky bows over her ears.

— Maud Hart Lovelace

The most important part of religion isn't in any church. It's down in your own heart. Religion is in your thoughts, and in the way you act from day to day, in the way you treat other people. It's honesty, and unselfishness, and kindness. Especially kindness.

— Maud Hart Lovelace

The older I get, the more mixed up life seems. When you're little, it's all so plain. It's all laid out like a game ready to play. You think you know exactly how it's going to go. But things happen...

— Maud Hart Lovelace

The wastes of snow on the hill were ghostly in the moonlight. The stars were piercingly bright.

— Maud Hart Lovelace

They soon stopped being ten years old. But whatever age they were seemed to be exactly the right age for having fun.

— Maud Hart Lovelace