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Father asked us what was God's noblest work. Anna said men, but I said babies. Men are often bad, but babies never are.

Louisa May Alcott

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Louisa May Alcott
Age: 55 †
Born: 1832
Born: November 29
Died: 1888
Died: March 6
Domestic Worker
Novelist
Nurse
Poet
Suffragette
Teacher
Writer
Germantown
Philadelphia
A. M. Barnard
Flora Fairfield
Flora Fairchild
Asked
Baby
Often
Father
Work
Never
Anna
Men
Noblest
Babies

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What do girls do who haven't any mothers to help them through their troubles?
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Now and then genius carries all before it, but not often. We have to climb slowly, with many slips and falls.
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{Mrs. March to Jo} You are too much alike and too fond of freedom, not to mention hot tempers and strong wills, to get on happily together, in a relation which needs infinite patience and forbearance, as well as love.
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[Jo to her mother] I knew there was mischief brewing. I felt it and now it's worse than I imagined. I just wish I could marry Meg myself, and keep her safe in the family.
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I think we are all hopelessly flawed.
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I could have been a great many things.
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My father taught in the wise way which unfolds what lies in the child
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Well, I am happy, and I won't fret, but it does seem as if the more one gets the more one wants.
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All is fish that comes to the literary net. Goethe puts his joys and sorrows into poems, I turn my adventures into bread and butter.
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It is my opinion that this day will never come to an end, said Prince, with a yawn that nearly rent him assunder.
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[She was] kept there in the sort of embrace a man gives to the dearest creature the world holds for him.
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I'm perfectly miserable but if you consider me presentable, I die happy.
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You are like a chestnut burr, prickly outside, but silky-soft within, and a sweet kernel, if one can only get at it. Love will make you show your heart some day, and then the rough burr will fall off.
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Beth ceased to fear him from that moment, and sat there talking to him as cozily as if she had known him all her life, for love casts out fear, and gratitude can conquer pride.
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No love or pity, pardon or excuse should soften the sharp pang of reparation for the guilty man.
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…tomorrow was her birthday, and she was thinking how fast the years went by, how old she was getting, and how little she seemed to have accomplished. Almost twenty-five and nothing to show for it.
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Salt is like good-humor, and nearly every thing is better for a pinch of it.
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A child her wayward pencil drew On margins of her book Garlands of flower, dancing elves, Bud, butterfly, and brook, Lessons undone, and plum forgot, Seeking with hand and heart The teacher whom she learned to love Before she knew t'was Art.
Louisa May Alcott
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I did fail, say what you will, for Jo wouldn't love me.
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Everybody has their days of misfortune.
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