"Francie, huddled with other children of her kind, learned more that first day than she realized. She learned of the class system of a great Democracy."
"She had become accustomed to being lonely. She was used to walking alone and to being considered 'different.' She did not suffer too much."
"The library was a little old shabby place. Francie thought it was beautiful. The feeling she had about it was as good as the feeling she had about church. She pushed open the door and went in. She liked the combined smell of worn leather bindings, library past and freshly inked stamping pads better than she liked the smell of burning incense at high mass."
"But the penciled sheets did not seem like nor smell like the library book so she had given it up, consoling herself with the vow that when she grew up, she would work hard, save money and buy every single book that she liked."
"The world was hers for the reading."
"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?"