Raymie Nightingale

It occurred to her that nobody really knew what anybody else was upset about, and that seemed like a terrible thing.

It was the strangest things, how happiness came out of nowhere and inflated your soul.

The world went on. People left and people died and people went to memorial services and put orange blocks of cheese into their purses. People confessed to you that they were hungry all the time. And then you got up in the morning and pretended that none of it had happened.

There was something scary about watching adults sleep. It was as if no one at all were in charge of the world.

Oh, my goodness,” said Louisiana. “I’m just all filled up with feathers and regrets. And fears. I have a lot of fears.

...you never know what's going to happen next. It keeps you on your toes. That's what Granny says. And it's important to be on your toes because you just never know what might happen next in this world.

She herself often felt too terrified to go on, but she had never admitted it out loud

If the wishes came true, they came true in terrible ways. Wishes were dangerous things. That was the idea you got from fairy tales.

Inside the magic globe that Florence Nightingale carries, there are wishes and hopes and love. And all of these things are very tiny and also very bright. And there are thousands of wishes and hopes and love things, and they move around in the magic globe, and that’s what Florence uses to see by. That is how she sees soldiers who have fallen on the battlefield of life.

Listen, said Beverly. Let me tell you something. There is no Very Friendly Animal Center. That cat is long gone.

Beware of the brokenhearted,” said the grandmother, “for they will lead you astray.

When we read together, we connect. Together, we see the world. Together, we see one another. Author,s note

Fear is a big waste of time.

Do gooders don't interest me. They are the least interesting people on the planet.

Sometimes the pain in her heart made her feel too terrified to go on. Sometimes it made her want to drop to her knees. But then she would remember that she had a plan.

You. Now. This you can do.

Louisiana stood up again. She was holding Bunny close to her chest. She faced forward. 'Go faster,' she said. 'Are you kidding?' said Beverly. 'Who do you think you are? Some kind of queen? We're pushing as hard as we can. This grocery cart is worthless. It's like the wheels aren't even wheels. It's like they're squares or something.

She had on a spangled top that sparkled like fish scales. Her hair was very yellow. She looked like a mermaid in a bad mood. (p. 82 RAYMIE NIGHTINGALE)

Now, don't get started on that. Remember what I said: There's no point in looking back.

The more I think about it, the more terrified I am.

..what Raymie thought as they rose to the surface together was that it was the easiest thing in the world to save somebody. For the first time, she understood Florence Nightingale and her lantern and the bright and shining path... For just a minute, she understood everything in the whole world.

As soon as Beverly said the words, Raymie knew that they were true. Louisiana’s singing would win any contest. And Raymie wanted Louisiana to win. She wanted her to become Little Miss Central Florida Tire.

But as Raymie stood in Ida Nee’s backyard, next to Louisiana and Beverly, it did not feel like her soul was shriveling at all. It felt more like it was filling up - becoming larger, brighter, more certain.

Take my hand!” screamed the voice again. Raymie’s heart jumped up high in her chest, and then sank down low. “Who is that?” asked Raymie. “That’s Alice Nebbley,” said Isabelle. “Ignore her. She knows one sentence, and she says it day and night. The monotony of her request is too horrible to bear.” To Raymie, the voice didn’t sound like it belonged to someone named Alice. Instead, it sounded like the voice of a troll who was standing under a bridge hoping that an unsuspecting billy goat would walk by.

How long are you supposed to wait? That was another question that Raymie wished she had asked Mrs. Borkowski. How long should you wait, and when should you stop waiting?