Beverly Cleary Quotes

She was not a slowpoke grownup. She was a girl who could not wait. Life was so interesting she had to find out what happened next.

If she can't spell, why is she a librarian? Librarians should know how to spell.

Quite often somebody will say, 'What year do your books take place?' and the only answer I can give is, in childhood.

If you don't see the book you want on the shelves, write it.

She means well, but she always manages to do the wrong thing. She has a real talent for it.

Words were so puzzling. Present should mean a present just as attack should mean to stick tacks in people.

Didn't the people who made those license plates care about little girls named Ramona?

Problem solving, and I don't mean algebra, seems to be my life's work. Maybe it's everyone's life's work.

Neither the mouse nor the boy was the least bit surprised that each could understand the other. Two creatures who shared a love for motorcycles naturally spoke the same language.

I had a very wise mother. She always kept books that were my grade level in our house.

One rainy Sunday when I was in the third grade, I picked up a book to look at the pictures and discovered that even though I did not want to, I was reading. I have been a reader ever since.

I guess that’s what growing up is. Saying good-by to a lot of things. Sometimes it is easy and sometimes it isn’t. But it is all right.

The humiliation that Jane had felt turned to something else--grief perhaps, or regret. Regret that she had not known how to act with a boy, regret that she had not been wiser.

Children should learn that reading is pleasure, not just something that teachers make you do in school.

All knowledge is valuable to a librarian.

All her life she had wanted to squeeze the toothpaste really squeeze it,not just one little squirt...The paste coiled and swirled and mounded in the washbasin. Ramona decorated the mound with toothpaste roses as if it was a toothpaste birthday cake

I am not a pest," Ramona Quimby told her big sister Beezus.

He was dressed as if everything he wore had come from different stores or from a rummage sale, except that the crease in his trousers was sharp and his shoes were shined.

If you don't see the book you want on the shelf, write it.

If you don't see the book you want on the shelf write it.

Love isn’t like a cup of sugar that gets used up,

I am sort of medium...I guess you could call me the mediumest boy in the class. -Leigh Botts

most beautiful, magic time of the whole year. Her parents loved her, and she loved them,

Ramona stepped back into her closet, slid the door shut, pressed an imaginary button, and when her imaginary elevator had made its imaginary descent, stepped out onto the real first floor and raced a real problem. Her mother and father were leaving for Parents' Night.

And now I’m going to find out how to get a library started.

That was the trouble with this house. A girl couldn't even carry on a telephone conversation with any privacy

But also, as you go through life, you pick up shreds of things, and eventually you are able to fit them together

If there's one thing I can't stand, its a cheeky mouse.

She thought about Susan, who always acted big. In kindergarten there was no worse crime than acting big.

She expected the class to laugh, but instead they listened in silent sympathy.

Ramona could not understand why grown-ups always talked about how quickly children grew up. Ramona thought growing up was the slowest thing there was, slower even than waiting for Christmas to come. She had been waiting years just to get to kindergarten, and the last half hour was the slowest part of all.

A happy ending for today,” corrected Ramona. Tomorrow they would begin all over again.

I’m not a pest,” said Ramona indignantly, and to get even she stretched one of Susan’s curls and whispered, “Boing!

Haven't you noticed grown-ups aren't perfect?" asked Mrs. Quimby. "Especially when they're tired." "Then how come you expect kids to be so perfect all the time?" demanded Ramona.

Ramona required accuracy from books as well as people.

Only grown-ups would say boots were for keeping feet dry. Anyone in kindergarten knew that a girl should wear shiny red or white boots on the first rainy day, not to keep her feet dry, but to show off. That’s what boots were for – showing off, wading, splashing, stamping.

Once more Jane sat staring at the telephone. This time she was filled with a confidence that was new to her. Stan Crandall. Stanley Crandall. He liked her! He had seen her once, and even though had been rumpled and grass-stained and having a terrible time with Sandra, he liked her well enough to go to the trouble of finding out her name and calling to ask her to go to the movies. Jane smiled at the telephone and gave a sigh of happiness

Ramona was filled with the glory of losing her first tooth and love for her teacher. Miss Binney had said she was brave! This day was the most wonderful day in the world! The sun shone, the sky was blue, and Miss Binney loved her.

She was surprised to feel his hand on her arm and still more surprised-almost unbelieving-to see his fingers unclasp his identification bracelet and remove it from his arm. Silently he fumbled with the bracelet and slipped it around her right wrist. with a tiny click he snapped the clasp shut. Jane gave a gasp of astonishment and turned questioning to Stan. She was wearing his identification bracelet! The silver links on her wrist were still warm from his arm

She would not have hurt the old man’s feelings for anything in the world.

Oh well, thought Jane, that's how men are. He's probably taking it for granted. She found it very pleasant to be taken for granted by Stan

If they had been riding in a car, she would have waited for him to go around and open the door for her, but riding in a truck is different

Say, who is this Mr. King?” “What Mr. King?” asked Ramona, walking into his trap. “Nosmo King,

Nobody had to tell Ramona about disappointment.

Didn’t grown-ups think children worried about anything but jack-o’-lanterns? Didn’t they know children worried about grown-ups?

A shivery feeling ran down Ramona’s backbone, as if magic were taking place.

Ramona felt sad and somehow lonely, as if she were left out of something important, because her family was in trouble and there was nothing she could do.

Ramona considered all these worries ridiculous, so she ignored them.

No family is perfect. Get that idea out of your head. And nobody is perfect either. All we can do is work at it. And we do.

She wanted a grown-up to be wrong for a change. She was tired of the rightness of grown-ups.

Ramona grabbed the book. “It’s mine. I told you it was mine!” Then she turned to Beezus and said triumphantly, “You said people didn’t buy books at the library and now you just bought one!

He would be atleast sixteen-old enough to have a driver's licence- and he would have crinkles around his eyes that showed he had a sense of humor and he would be tall, the kind of boy all the other girls would like to date

After Father had served the chicken and mashed potatoes and peas and Mother had passed the hot rolls, Beezus decidedthe time had come to tell Aunt Beatrice about being Sacajawea. "Do you know what I did last week?" she began. "I want some jelly," said Ramona "You mean, 'Please pass the jelly,' "corrected Mother while Beezus waited patiently. 'No, what did you do last week?" asked Aunt Beatrice. "Well, last week I-" Beezus began again. " like purple jelly better then red jelly," said Ramona. ' Ramona , stop interrupting your sister," said Father. "Well, Ido like purple jelly better then red jelly," insisted Ramona."Never mind," said Mother. "Go no, Beezus." Last week-" said Beezus, looking at her aunt, who smiled as if she understood."Excuse me, Beezus," Mother cut in. "Ramona, we do not put jelly on our mashed potatoes." "I like jelly on my mashed potatoes."Ramona stirred potato and jelly aroud with her fork. "Ramona you heard what your mother said." Father looked stern. "If I can ut butter on my mashed potateos, why can't I put jelly? I put butter and jelly on toast," said Ramona. Father couldn't help laughing. "That's a hard question to answer." "But Mother-" Beezus began."I like jelly on my mashed potateos," interrupted Ramona, looking sulky.

How can there be no such word as can't? Ramona wondered. Mrs. Rudge had just said can't. If there was so such word as can't then Mrs. Rudge could not have said there was no such word as can't. Therefore, what Mrs. Rudge said could not be true.

Mother, what am I going to do?' Beezus demanded. 'It's checked out on my card and I'm responsible. They won't let me take any more books out of the library, and I won't have anything to read, and it will all be Ramona's fault. She's always spoiling my fun and it isn't fair!' Beezus didn't know what she would do without her library card. She couldn't get along without library books. She just couldn't, that was all.

Ralph really felt sorry for the boy, hampered as he was by his youth and his mother.

Don’t eat so noisily. My grandmother used to say, ‘A smack at the table is worth a smack on the bottom.

Poor Miss Binney, dressed like Mother Goose, now had the responsibility of sixty-eight boys and girls.

Well, she thought, I'm certainly bright. She had wanted to meet a new boy and when she finally did meet one she didn't even find out his name

I know this is probably sort of sudden." The boy hesitated. "But I was wodnering if you would care to go to the movies with me tomorrow night.

If she can't spell, she shouldn't be a librarian.

attention.

We have our ups and downs,” said Mrs. Quimby, “but we manage to get along, and we stick together.

As a child I very much objected to books that tried to teach me something. I just wanted to read for pleasure, and I did.

Now we lay Picky-picky down to sleep. We pray thee, Lord, his soul to keep. Thy love stay with him through the night and wake him with the morning light.

Besides, why wasn’t the top of the bottle screwed on tight? Because some grown-up had not screwed it on, that’s why. Children weren’t the only people who did things wrong.

Nothing infuriated Ramona more than having a grown-up say, as if she could not hear, that she was worn out.

Miss Binney was not like most grown-ups. Miss Binney understood.

IF YOU ARE EATING PEAS THINK OF ME BEFORE YOU SNEEZE Signed, Yard Ape PRESIDENT

She had lost interest in crayoning.

She did not want her father's hair to grow thin or her mother's hair to grow gray. She wanted her parents to stay exactly as they were forever and ever.

Nobody understood. She wanted to behave herself. Except when banging her heels on the bedroom wall, she had always wanted to behave herself. Why couldn’t people understand how she felt?

He seemed grown-up, compared to the boys at school, and although he was not handsome, or even particularly good-looking—there were still some scars on his face from the skin trouble he had when he was younger—his face was agreeable because it was so. . . . What was the word? Kind, perhaps. Or gentle. But strong, too. He was genuinely glad to see all of Sue’s family, and when Sue entered the room and he helped her on with her coat, Jean thought he acted as if her sister was someone precious to him.

This morning the sun was shining, so Barry and I mailed my letter to Mr. Henshaw and then walked over to see if there were still any butterflies in the grove. We only saw three or four, so I guess most of them have gone north for the summer. Then we walked down to the little park at Lovers Point and sat on a rock watching sailboats on the bay for a while. When clouds began to blow in we walked back to my house.

Daisy picked up the large, limp cat that was almost too heavy for her. “This is Clawed,” she said. “C-l-a-w-e-d,” she spelled. “Not like a man’s name. My brother named him Clawed because he had been clawed by another cat when he found him hiding in a gutter. Daddy says he hopes Jeremy never finds a wounded skunk.

davenport

What’s the use of having a motorcycle if you can’t go tearing around staying out late?” Ralph asked reasonably.

PEAS

Girls with birthdays don’t have to help clear the table,

The world, Ramona decided, was full of people who used their dictionary skills and probably weren’t any fun. Then

And the muscles of his scrawny arms Are strong as rubber bands.

Willa Jean, pleased to have her grandmother on her side, set a red checker on top of a black checker. “Your turn,” she said to Ramona as if she were being generous.

De Sooner De Better De Later De Letter De Madder I Getter

They wiped his paws on a good bath towel whenever he came in with wet feet, because they had not been married long enough to have an old bath towel,

Ellen might have known her best friend would think of something like that.

Plainly something had to be done and it was up to Beezus to do it.

No,” said Ramona. “He’s the kind of grown-up who teases children and thinks he’s funny.

Swell, just swell,” muttered Howie. “Twenty-nine kids laughing at me in girls’ socks carrying a stupid little pillow.

were poking a little fun at Ramona. “Yes, ma’am!” said her father, and saluted as if she were somebody important. This time Ramona had to laugh.

Emily was lucky in many ways. She was lucky in the house she lived in, a house with three balconies, a cupola, banisters just right for sliding down, and the second bathtub in Yamhill County.

Dear Emily, This week I went to the library. I got Black Beauty. It is about a horse. It is the best book I ever read. I read it three times. I have to go now. Write soon. Yours truly, Muriel. P.S. Mama sends her love.

Halfway to the house Stan stopped and turned to Jane. He put his hands on her shoulders and drew her toward him. "I'm glad we're going steady," he whispered. "So am I." In spite of the reassuring weight of his bracelet on her wrist, Jane suddenly felt shy. It seemed strange to be so close to Stan, to feel his crisp clean shirt against her cheek. She could not look up at him. Gently Stan lifted her face to his. "You're my girl," he whispered. -Fifteen

Life, Henry discovered, was suddenly so full of interesting things to do that he rode his bicycle through a pile of autumn leaves in the gutter just for the joy of hearing them crackle. “Clank, clank!” Ramona yelled after him. “Clank, clank!” answered Henry.

The rainy winter days passed quickly. Thanksgiving came and not long afterward Christmas vacation. Ramona missed Daisy, who went with her family to visit her grandparents. When she returned, the girls spent an afternoon dressing up Roberta in the clothes she had received for Christmas. Roberta was agreeable to having a dress pulled over her head, her arms stuffed into a sweater, her head shoved into caps. She enjoyed the girls’ admiration. She was not so happy about a pair of crocheted slippers with ears and tails that looked like rabbits, a gift from Howie’s grandmother, who enjoyed crocheting. Roberta did not care for the slippers.

Girl Snouts.” “We are not,” contradicted Sarah. “We’re Girl Scouts.” “Hup, two, three, four. Hup, two, three, four,” counted Mrs. Collins, who was the jolly type and did not understand how parents sometimes embarrass their children. Down the hill marched the class. Mitchell felt Bernadette’s toe on his heel again and jumped in time.

The Quimbys looked at her in astonishment. “But who paid for them?” demanded Mr. Quimby. “A lonely gentleman who left a little while ago,” answered the waitress. “He must have been the man who sat across the aisle,” said Mrs. Quimby. “But why would he pay for our dinners? We never saw him before in our lives.” The waitress smiled. “Because he said you are such a nice family, and because he misses his children and grandchildren.” She dashed off with her pot of coffee, leaving the Quimbys in surprised, even shocked, silence. A nice family? After the way they had behaved on a rainy Sunday. “A mysterious stranger just like in a book,” said Beezus. “I never thought I’d meet one.” “Poor lonely man,” said Mrs. Quimby at last,

Mother,” said Ramona urgently. This time she stepped into the hall. “Unless we get a ladder (Go back to your room, Ramona) and break the window so we can unlock it,” Mother continued, speaking with one sentence inside another, the way grown-ups so often did with Ramona around. “But Mother,” insisted Ramona even more urgently. “I have to—” “Oh, dear, I might have known,” sighed Mother.

returned to the threshing machine. I helped clear the table, and when Mother and Grandma began to wash dishes in water heated on the stove, Mother said, “Beverly, never, never, serve mashed potatoes to threshers. They disappear too fast.” To her mother she said, “What will the men think of me, running out of potatoes like that?” “Why didn’t the cookhouse come?” I asked. Mother sighed. “Because we simply don’t have the money. Most farmers don’t this year.

bags and boxes across the hot parking lot to the van. On the way back to the mall, Willa Jean, who spotted the ice-cream store that sold fifty-two flavors, told her uncle she needed an ice-cream cone. Uncle Hobart agreed that ice-cream cones were needed by all. Inside the busy shop, customers had to take numbers and wait turns. Ramona, responsible for Willa Jean, who could not read, was faced with the embarrassing task of reading aloud the list of fifty-two flavors while all the customers listened. “Strawberry, German chocolate, vanilla, ginger-peachy, red-white-and-blueberry, black walnut, Mississippi mud, green bubble gum, baseball nut.

That’s the one,” said Aunt Bea. “He used to chew licorice and spit on the grass to make the principal think he was chewing tobacco like a professional baseball player, which was what he wanted to be.” “Where’s this cute licorice-chewing uncle coming from, and how did he get so rich?” asked Ramona’s father, beginning to be interested. “Playing baseball?” “He’s coming from—” Ramona frowned. “I can’t remember the name, but it sounds like a fairy tale and has camels.” Narnia? Never-never-land? No, those names weren’t right. “Saudi Arabia,” said Beezus, who also went to the Kemps’ after school. Being in junior high school, she could take her time getting there. “Yes, that’s it!” Ramona wished she had remembered first. “Howie says he’s bringing the whole family presents.” She imagined bags of gold like those in The Arabian Nights, which Beezus had read to her. Of course, nobody carried around bags of gold today, but she enjoyed imagining them. “What’s Howie’s uncle doing in Saudi Arabia?” asked Mr. Quimby. “Besides spitting licorice in the sand?