Frances Hodgson Burnett

One of the new things peo­ple be­gan to find out in the last cen­tury was that thoughts—just mere thoughts—are as pow­er­ful as elec­tric bat­ter­ies—as good for one as sun­light is, or as bad for one as poi­son.

you may never get over it as long as you live.

while those whom Mary saw slunk or hur­ried about with ashy and scared faces

Since she had been

If Mary Len­nox

“He’s a con­ceited one,”

She had not wanted a lit­tle girl at all, and when Mary was born she handed her over to the care of an Ayah

No­body thought of her, no­body wanted her, and strange things hap­pened of which she knew noth­ing.

She did not cry be­cause her nurse had died. She was not an af­fec­tion­ate child and had never cared much for any­one

Other chil­dren seemed to be­long to their fa­thers and moth­ers, but she had never seemed to re­ally be any­one’s lit­tle girl.