A Lie Was Something You Told Because

There's A Tree That Grows In Brooklyn. Some People Call It The Tree Of Heaven. No Matter Where Its Seed Falls, It Makes A Tree Which Struggles To Reach The Sky. It Grows In Boarded-up Lots And Out Of Neglected Rubbish Heaps. It Grows Up Out Of Cellar Gratings. It Is The Only Tree That Grows Out Of Cement. It Grows Lushly . . . Survives Without Sun, Water, And Seemingly Without Earth. It Would Be Considered Beautiful Except That There Are Too Many Of It.

She Had Become Accustomed To Being Lonely. She Was Used To Walking Alone And To Being Considered 'different.' She Did Not Suffer Too Much.

They Learned No Compassion From Their Own Anguish. Thus Their Suffering Was Wasted.

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?

There Is Here, What Is Not In The Old Country. In Spite Of Hard, Unfamiliar Things, There Is Here - Hope. In The Old Country, A Man Can Be No More Than His Father, Providing He Works Hard. If His Father Was A Carpenter, He May Be A Carpenter. He Many Not Be A Teacher Or A Priest. He May Rise - But Only To His Father's State. In The Old Country, A Man Is Given To The Past. Here He Belongs To The Future. In This Land, He May Be What He Will, If He Has The Good Heart And The Way Of Working Honestly At The Right Things.