A person may encircle the globe with mind open only to bodily comfort. Another may live his life on a sixty-foot lot and listen to the voices of the universe.

She wondered why she, herself, was always touched by such infinitesimal things. Their very homeliness and lack of worth seemed connecting the past with the present all the more. It was true, she thought, that the big things awe us but the little things touch us.

Sometime in their lives, everybody wanted to go home.

And now Abbie had the new experience of attempting to keep another person courageous. It was more trying than to keep up her own spirits. Why must she always be strong for other people?

And so a greater share of the night, Laura shed tears into her soft white pillow. Some of them were for old Oscar Lutz... Some of them were for the general sad fact that hours fly and flowers die. But most of them were shed because of her own sudden and definite realization that even though there come new days and new ways, – love stays.

If the faith of all the mothers could blossom to its full fruition, there would be no unsuccessful men in the land.

For though love has been ridiculed and disgraced, exchanged and bartered, dragged through the courts, and sold for thirty pieces of silver, the bright, steady glow of its fire still shines on the hearth-stones of countless homes...

If I can’t see stories in the lives of the people around me, – I just couldn’t see them anywhere. If I can’t see drama in humanity near me, I guess I couldn’t detect it in humans far away.

Aunt Grace was leaving... Looking after her a moment, Laura had another feeling of tenderness toward her. How we live our lives side by side with those whom we never know or understand.

Abbie Deal went happily about her work, one baby in her arms and the other at her skirts, courage her lode-star and love her guide, – a song upon her lips and a lantern in her hand.