Frances Hodgson Burnett, fully Frances Eliza Hodgson Burnett

Frances Hodgson
Burnett, fully Frances Eliza Hodgson Burnett
1849
1924

English Playwright and Author known for her children's stories, in particular The Secret Garden, A Little Princess, and Little Lord Fauntleroy

Author Quotes

Yes, answered Sara, nodding. Adversity tries people, and mine has tried you and proved how nice you are.

It makes me feel as if something had hit me, Sara had told Ermengarde once in confidence. And as if I want to hit back. I have to remember things quickly to keep from saying something ill-tempered.

Never thee stop believin' in th' Big Good Thing an' knowin' th' world's full of it - and call it what tha' likes. Tha' wert singin' to it when I come into t' garden.

Perhaps you can feel if you canÂ’t hear, was her fancy. Perhaps kind thoughts reach people somehow, even through windows and doors and walls. Perhaps you feel a little warm and comforted, and donÂ’t know why, when I am standing here in the cold and hoping you will get well and happy again.

Sometimes since I've been in the garden I've looked up through the trees at the sky and I have had a strange feeling of being happy as if something was pushing and drawing in my chest and making me breathe fast. Magic is always pushing and drawing and making things out of nothing. Everything is made out of magic, leaves and trees, flowers and birds, badgers and foxes and squirrels and people. So it must be all around us. In this garden - in all the places.

There's nothing so strong as rage, except what makes you hold it in—that's stronger. It's a good thing not to answer your enemies. I scarcely ever do.

You are nothing but a doll. Nothing but a doll -- doll -- doll! You care for nothing. You are stuffed with sawdust. You never had a heart. Nothing could ever make you feel. You are a doll!

It was a mere matter of seeing common things together and exchanging common speech concerning them, but each was so strongly conscious of the other that no sentence could seem wholly impersonal. There are times when the whole world is personal to a mood whose intensity seems a reason for all things. Words are of small moment when the mere sound of a voice makes an unreasonable joy.

No man knew when the Shuttle began its slow and heavy weaving from shore to shore, that it was held and guided by the great hand of Fate. Fate alone saw the meaning of the web it wove, the might of it, and its place in the making of a world's history. Men thought but little of either web or weaving, calling them by other names and lighter ones, for the time unconscious of the strength of the thread thrown across thousands of miles of leaping, heaving, grey or blue ocean.

Perhaps you can feel if you can't hear. Perhaps kind thoughts reach people somehow, even through windows and doors and walls. Perhaps you feel a little warm and comforted.

That's what I look at some people for. I like to know about them. I think them over afterward.

To let a sad thought or a bad one get into your mind is as dangerous as letting a scarlet fever germ get into your body. If you let it stay there after it has got in, you may never get over it as long as you live.

You can lose a friend in springtime easier than any other season if you're too curious.

It will be like a story from the Arabian Nights, he said. Only an Oriental could have planned it. It does not belong to London fogs.

'No,' she answered. 'I know you by heart. You are inside my heart.

Sara! she cried, aghast. Mamma Sara! She was aghast because the attic was so bare and ugly and seemed so far away from all the world. Her short legs had seemed to have been mounting hundreds of stairs.

The boys at the Brooklyn public school which he attended did not know what the T. stood for. He would never tell them. All he said in reply to questions was: It don't stand for nothin'. You've gotter have a' 'nitial, ain't you? His name was, in fact, an almost inevitable school-boy modification of one felt to be absurd and pretentious. His Christian name was Temple, which became Temp. His surname was Barom, so he was at once Temp Barom. In the natural tendency to avoid waste of time it was pronounced as one word, and the letter p being superfluous and cumbersome, it easily settled itself into Tembarom, and there remained.

To speak robin to a robin is like speaking French to a Frenchman

You do remember me! she cried out. You do! You are prettier than anything else in the world!

It's so different to be a sparrow. But nobody asked this rat if he wanted to be a rat when he was made. Nobody said, 'Wouldn't you rather be a sparrow?

Nothing in the world is quite as adorably lovely as a robin when he shows off and they are nearly always doing it.

Sara... looked long and hard at his face.

The difficulty will be to keep her from learning too fast and too much. She is always sitting with her little nose burrowing into books. She doesn't read them, Miss Minchin; she gobbles them up as if she were a little wolf instead of a little girl. She is always starving for new books to gobble, and she wants grown-up books--great, big, fat ones--French and German as well as English--history and biography and poets, and all sorts of things. Drag her away from her books when she reads too much.

Two things cannot be in one place. Where you tend a rose, my lad, a thistle cannot grow.

You see, now that trials have come, they have shown that I am NOT a nice child. I was afraid they would. Perhaps...that is what they were sent for...I suppose there MIGHT be good in things [trials], even if we don't see it.

Author Picture
First Name
Frances Hodgson
Last Name
Burnett, fully Frances Eliza Hodgson Burnett
Birth Date
1849
Death Date
1924
Bio

English Playwright and Author known for her children's stories, in particular The Secret Garden, A Little Princess, and Little Lord Fauntleroy