The Difference Between Rich And Poor", Said

You Took A Walk On A Sunday Afternoon And Came To A Nice Neighborhood, Very Refined. You Saw A Small One Of These Trees Through The Iron Gate Leading To Someone's Yard And You Knew That Soon That Section Of Brooklyn Would Get To Be A Tenement District. The Tree Knew. It Came There First. Afterwards, Poor Foreigners Seeped In And The Quiet Old Brownstone Houses Were Hacked Up Into Flats, Feather Beds Were Pushed Out On The Window Sills To Air And The Tree Of Heaven Flourished. That Was The Kind Of Tree It Was. It Liked Poor People.

Let Me Be Something Every Minute Of Every Hour Of My Life...and When I Sleep, Let Me Dream All The Time So That Not One Little Piece Of Living Is Ever Lost.

People Looking Up At Her--at Her Smooth Pretty Vivacious Face--had No Way Of Knowing About The Painfully Articulated Resolves Formulating In Her Mind.

People Always Think That Happiness Is A Faraway Thing," Thought Francie, "something Complicated And Hard To Get. 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.

'dear God,' She Prayed, 'let Me Be Something Every Minute Of Every Hour Of My Life.'