September 19, 1894|
New York City
|Died||March 15, 1942
Los Angeles, California
|Resting place||Stockbridge, Massachusetts|
|Alma mater||Radcliffe College|
|Period||1924â€“1944 as an adult|
|Genre||Drama, poetry, novels, Christian fiction|
Hitty, Her First Hundred Years
|Notable awards||Newbery Award
National Book Award
|Spouse||Arthur S. Pederson|
|Children||Hannah and ?|
I used to think I had ambition… but now I'm not so sure. It may have been only discontent. They're easily confused.
Too much good fortune can make you smug and unaware. Happiness should be like an oasis, the greener for the desert that surrounds it.
One of the pleasantest things about book writing is that sometimes it brings one in touch with old friends.
There was no reality to pain when it left one, thought while it held one fast all other realities failed.
I've seen public opinion shift like the wind and put out the very fire it lighted.