Judy Blume · 149 pages
Rating: (167.8K votes)
“We must, we must, we must increase our bust.”
“Are you there God? It's me, Margaret.”
“It's not so much that I like him as a person God, but as a boy he's very handsome.”
“I like one hair, tuna fish, the smell of rain and things that are pink. I hate pimples, baked potatoes, when my mother's mad, and religious holidays.”
“Are you there God? It’s me, Margaret. I just told my mother I want a bra. Please help me grow God. You know where.”
“Why do they wait until sixth grade when you already know everything?”
“As long as she loves me and I love her, what difference does religion make?”
“Especially since my mother says Grandma is too much of an influence on me.”
“I must—I must—I must increase my bust.”
“How can I stop worrying when I don’t know if I’m going to turn out normal?” “I promise, you’ll turn out normal.” Are”
“I always had to buy a book, even if I wasn't done with the one I was currently reading. I loved to read. I felt like the trun of each page echoed between the covers of the world inside them-and each book had its own rules. There, within the mystique of that connection, was something special, and I was an addict.”
“There are billions of men in the world, probably millions near my age. Maybe hundreds who are compatible with me. Maybe at least a dozen who would want to date me. There's got to be at least five on the continent whom I could probably marry. So why am I so hung up on this one guy?”
“Thank God (my wife) and I were both born poor
so the concept of fidelity was allowed to take root in us.”
“I know you like me, Ara. You don't have to pretend, just because you think it's improper to fall for someone at first sight.” His eyes lit up, shimmering green like a glass marble held up to the sun. “I can see that you feel the same way I do.”
Oh, my God! Is this the point where I can jump off the swing and fall into his waiting arms? No. Don't do that. Don't read into it too much. I looked away from his gleaming, white-toothed grin, and clutched the ropes of the swing tighter.”
“He paid me another visit this afternoon. I invited him to accommodate himself in one of Mrs. Lippett's electric-blue chairs, and then sat down opposite to enjoy the harmony. He was dressed in a mustard-colored homespun, with a dash of green and a glint of yellow in the weave, a "heather mixture" calculated to add life to a dull Scotch moor. Purple socks and a red tie, with an amethyst pin, completed the picture. Clearly, your paragon of a doctor is not going to be of much assistance in”
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