Dear God,’ she prayed, ‘let me be something every minute of every hour of my life.’
BETTY SMITHOh time…time, pass so that I forget! Oh time, Great Healer, pass over me and let me forget.
More Betty Smith Quotes
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It was the last time she’d see the river from that window. The last time of anything has the poignancy of death itself. This that I see now, she thought, to see no more this way.
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I came to a clear conclusion, and it is a universal one: To live, to struggle, to be in love with life–in love with all life holds, joyful or sorrowful–is fulfillment. The fullness of life is open to all of us.
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Yet, what little things can make it up; a place of shelter when it rains – a cup of strong hot coffee when you’re blue; for a man, a cigarette for contentment; a book to read when you’re alone – just to be with someone you love. Those things make happiness.
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Intolerance is a thing that causes war, pogroms, crucifixions, lynchings, and makes people cruel to little children and each other. It is responsible for most of the viciousness, violence, terror, and heart and soul breaking of the world.
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You won’t die, Francie. You were born to lick this rotten life.
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Did you ever see so many pee-wee hats, Carl?” “They’re beanies.” “They call them pee-wees in Brooklyn.” “But I’m not in Brooklyn.” “But you’re still a Brooklynite.”
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The world was hers for the reading.
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Francie was ten years old when she first found an outlet in writing. What she wrote was of little consequence.
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Suffering is also good, it makes a person rich in charachter.
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I wrote about people who liked fake fireplaces in their parlor, who thought a brass horse with a clock embedded in its flank was wonderful.
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People always think that happiness is a faraway thing,” thought Francie, “something complicated and hard to get.
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Occasionally there is a moment in a person’s life when he takes a great stride forward in wisdom, humility, or disillusionment.
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No. I don’t want to need anybody. I want someone to need me … I want someone to need me.
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Brooklyn was a dream. All the things that happened there just couldn’t happen. It was all dream stuff. Or was it all real and true and was it that she, Francie, was the dreamer?
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If you love someone, you’d rather suffer the pain alone to spare them.
BETTY SMITH