A Little Princess quotes

In writing a book one relates all that one remembers at the time, and if one told all that really happened perhaps the book would never end.

Between the lines of every story there is another story, and that is one that is never heard and can only be guessed at by the people who are good at guessing.

The person who writes the story may never know all of it, but sometimes he does and wishes he had the chance to begin again.

She sat with her feet tucked under her, and leaned against her father, who held her in his arm, as she stared out of the window at the passing people with a queer old-fashioned thoughtfulness in her big eyes.

She was such a little girl that one did not expect to see such a look on her small face.

It would have been an old look for a child of twelve, and Sara Crewe was only seven.

The fact was, however, that she was always dreaming and thinking odd things and could not herself remember any time when she had not been thinking things about grown-up people and the world they belonged to.

She felt as if she had lived a long, long time.

At this moment she was remembering the voyage she had just made from Bombay with her father, Captain Crewe.

As she sat down in one of the stiff mahogany chairs, Sara cast one of her quick looks about her.

“I don’t like it, papa,” she said. “But then I dare say soldiers⁠—even brave ones⁠—don’t really like going into battle.”

Captain Crewe laughed outright at this. He was young and full of fun, and he never tired of hearing Sara’s queer speeches.

She has dimples and rose-colored cheeks, and long hair the color of gold. I have short black hair and green eyes; besides which, I am a thin child and not fair in the least. I am one of the ugliest children I ever saw.

She is beginning by telling a story.

”

“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.

“Papa,” said Sara. “You see, if I went out and bought a new doll every few days I should have more than I could be fond of.

Dolls ought to be intimate friends. Emily is going to be my intimate friend.

”

“No,” she answered. “

I know you by heart. You are inside my heart.

” And they put their arms round each other and kissed as if they would never let each other go.

“What I believe about dolls,” she said, “is that they can do things they will not let us know about.

Perhaps, really, Emily can read and talk and walk, but she will only do it when people are out of the room.

That is her secret. You see, if people knew that dolls could do things, they would make them work. So, perhaps, they have promised each other to keep it a secret. If you stay in the room, Emily will just sit there and stare;

“Ah, madame,” he said, “there is not much I can teach her.

She has not learned French; she is French.

Her accent is exquisite.”

“If I go on talking and talking,” she said, “and telling you things about pretending, I shall bear it better.

You don’t forget, but you bear it better.

”

“I’m glad of that,” said Sara. “

It makes you thankful when you are liked.

Yes. We will be friends. And I’ll tell you what”—a sudden gleam lighting her face—“I can help you with your French lessons.”

I don’t know”—looking quite serious—“how I shall ever find out whether I am really a nice child or a horrid one.

Perhaps I’m a hideous child, and no one will ever know, just because I never have any trials.

”

This was so unexpected that it was astounding. Lottie actually dropped her legs, gave a wriggle, and lay and stared.

A new idea will stop a crying child when nothing else will.

Also it was true that while Lottie disliked Miss Minchin, who was cross, and Miss Amelia, who was foolishly indulgent, she rather liked Sara, little as she knew her.

“My mamma!” said Sara, looking odd. “I don’t believe she would mind in the least.

She knows that stories belong to everybody.

”

“Why,” she said, “we are just the same—I am only a little girl like you.

It’s just an accident that I am not you, and you are not me!

”

She had an extra piece of cake in her pocket, and she had been fed and warmed, but not only by cake and fire.

Something else had warmed and fed her, and the something else was Sara.

When she was gone Sara sat on her favorite perch on the end of her table. Her feet were on a chair, her elbows on her knees, and her chin in her hands.

Never did she find anything so difficult as to keep herself from losing her temper when she was suddenly disturbed while absorbed in a book.

People who are fond of books know the feeling of irritation which sweeps over them at such a moment.

The temptation to be unreasonable and snappish is one not easy to manage.

“It’s true,” she said. “Sometimes I do pretend I am a princess.

I pretend I am a princess, so that I can try and behave like one.

”

“I know I am,” answered Sara, undisturbedly. “I like it.

There is nothing so nice as supposing. It’s almost like being a fairy. If you suppose anything hard enough it seems as if it were real.

”

“I believe I could,” she said. “

If one was a beggar, one would have to suppose and pretend all the time.

But it mightn’t be easy.”

“

Diamond-mines spell ruin oftener than they spell wealth

,” said Mr. Barrow.

“You are not kind,” she said. “

You are not kind, and it is not a home.

” And she had turned and run out of the room before Miss Minchin could stop her or do anything but stare after her with stony anger.

“Yes,” answered Sara, nodding. “

Adversity tries people, and mine has tried you and proved how nice you are.

”

“Come on,” said Sara; “I’m not a trap. You can have them, poor thing! Prisoners in the Bastille used to make friends with rats. Suppose I make friends with you.”

How it is that animals understand things I do not know, but it is certain that they do understand.

Perhaps there is a language which is not made of words and everything in the world understands it. Perhaps there is a soul hidden in everything and it can always speak, without even making a sound, to another soul.

How it is that animals understand things I do not know, but it is certain that they do understand. Perhaps there is a language which is not made of words and everything in the world understands it.

Perhaps there is a soul hidden in everything and it can always speak, without even making a sound, to another soul.

But whatsoever was the reason, the rat knew from that moment that he was safe—even though he was a rat.

When she had been the Princess Sara, driving through the streets in her brougham, or walking, attended by Mariette, the sight of her bright, eager little face and picturesque coats and hats had often caused people to look after her.

A happy, beautifully cared for little girl naturally attracts attention.

Shabby, poorly dressed children are not rare enough and pretty enough to make people turn around to look at them and smile. No one looked at Sara in these days, and no one seemed to see her as she hurried along the crowded pavements.

There was something so honest and kind in his face, and he looked so likely to be heartbrokenly disappointed if she did not take it, that Sara knew she must not refuse him. To be as proud as that would be a cruel thing.

So she actually put her pride in her pocket, though it must be admitted her cheeks burned.

“Thank you,” she said. “You are a kind, kind little darling thing.” And as he scrambled joyfully into the carriage she went away, trying to smile, though she caught her breath quickly and her eyes were shining through a mist.

When people are insulting you, there is nothing so good for them as not to say a word—just to look at them and think. Miss Minchin turns pale with rage when I do it, Miss Amelia looks frightened, and so do the girls.

When you will not fly into a passion people know you are stronger than they are, because you are strong enough to hold in your rage, and they are not, and they say stupid things they wish they hadn’t said afterward.

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. Perhaps Emily is more like me than I am like myself.

“You can’t help being a doll,” she said with a resigned sigh, “any more than Lavinia and Jessie can help not having any sense. We are not all made alike.

Perhaps you do your sawdust best.

” And she kissed her and shook her clothes straight, and put her back upon her chair.

She felt absolutely sure he had come up to look at the sun, because he had seen it so seldom in England that he longed for a sight of it. She looked at him interestedly for a second, and then smiled across the slates.

She had learned to know how comforting a smile, even from a stranger, may be.

Hers was evidently a pleasure to him. His whole expression altered, and he showed such gleaming white teeth as he smiled back that it was as if a light had been illuminated in his dusky face.

“Whatever comes,” she said, “cannot alter one thing. If I am a princess in rags and tatters, I can be a princess inside.

It would be easy to be a princess if I were dressed in cloth of gold, but it is a great deal more of a triumph to be one all the time when no one knows it.

There was Marie Antoinette when she was in prison and her throne was gone and she had only a black gown on, and her hair was white, and they insulted her and called her Widow Capet.

“Whatever comes,” she said, “cannot alter one thing.

If I am a princess in rags and tatters, I can be a princess inside.

It would be easy to be a princess if I were dressed in cloth of gold, but it is a great deal more of a triumph to be one all the time when no one knows it.

“

A princess must be polite,

” she said to herself.

“I am growing quite fond of him,” she said to Ermengarde; “I should not like him to be disturbed.

I have adopted him for a friend. You can do that with people you never speak to at all.

You can just watch them, and think about them and be sorry for them, until they seem almost like relations. I’m quite anxious sometimes when I see the doctor call twice a day.”

“Perhaps you can feel if you can’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 don’t know why, when I am standing here in the cold and hoping you will get well and happy again. I am so sorry for you,” she would whisper in an intense little voice.

“That is because it makes you think of something else,” said Sara, wrapping the coverlet round her until only her small dark face was to be seen looking out of it. “I’ve noticed this.

What you have to do with your mind, when your body is miserable, is to make it think of something else.

”

And suppose—suppose—just when I was near a baker’s where they sold hot buns, I should find sixpence—which belonged to nobody. Suppose, if I did, I should go into the shop and buy six of the hottest buns and eat them all without stopping.”

Some very odd things happen in this world sometimes.

It certainly was an odd thing that happened to Sara. She had to cross the street just when she was saying this to herself. The mud was dreadful—she almost had to wade.

“Perhaps,” she said, “to be able to learn things quickly isn’t everything.

To be kind is worth a great deal to other people.

If Miss Minchin knew everything on earth and was like what she is now, she’d still be a detestable thing, and everybody would hate her. Lots of clever people have done harm and have been wicked. Look at Robespierre—”

“Somehow, something always happens,” she cried, “just before things get to the very worst. It is as if the Magic did it. If I could only just remember that always.

The worst thing never quite comes.

”

They pulled the old table forward, and threw the shawl over it.

Red is a wonderfully kind and comfortable color.

It began to make the room look furnished directly.

When she was scolded she stood still and listened politely with a grave face; when she was punished she performed her extra tasks or went without her meals, making no complaint or outward sign of rebellion.

The very fact that she never made an impudent answer seemed to Miss Minchin a kind of impudence in itself.

But after yesterday’s deprivation of meals, the violent scene of last night, the prospect of hunger today, she must surely have broken down. It would be strange indeed if she did not come downstairs with pale cheeks and red eyes and an unhappy, humbled face.

That wouldn’t be any stranger than this. Is this my garret? Am I the same cold, ragged, damp Sara? And to think I used to pretend and pretend and wish there were fairies!

The one thing I always wanted was to see a fairy story come true. I am living in a fairy story.

I feel as if I might be a fairy myself, and able to turn things into anything else.”

“If he wants to keep himself a secret, it would be rude to try and find out who he is. But I do so want him to know how thankful I am to him—and how happy he has made me.

Anyone who is kind wants to know when people have been made happy. They care for that more than for being thanked.

I wish—I do wish—”