A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

by Betty Smith

Maybe that decision was her great mistake. She should have waited until some man came along who felt that way about her. Then her children would not have gone hungry; she would not have had to scrub floors for their living and her memory of him would have remained a tender shining thing. But she wanted Johnny Nolan and no one else and she set out to get him.

“Maybe,” thought Francie, “she doesn’t love me as much as she loves Neeley. But she needs me more than she needs him and I guess being needed is almost as good as being loved. Maybe better.”

“I wish I could always wear a white dress and carry red roses and that we could always throw money around like we did tonight,” wished Francie.

“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.”

“No! I don’t want to need anybody. I want someone to need me…I want someone to need me.”

“Annie Laurie McShane! She’ll never have the hard times we had, will she?” “No. And she’ll never have the fun we had, either.” “Gosh! We did have fun, didn’t we, Neeley?” “Yeah!”

“To look at everything always as though you were seeing it either for the first or last time: Thus is your time on earth filled with glory.”