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.

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

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.

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,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ramona required accuracy from books as well as people.

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.

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

Nobody had to tell Ramona about disappointment.

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

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!

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 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.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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

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

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

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.

Her mother had said the words she longed to hear. Her mother could not get along without her. She felt warm, and safe and comforted.

For the first time, Ramona began to doubt that her father was the best artist in the whole world. This thought made her feel sad...

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.

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

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?

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.

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

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.

attention.

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

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

Ramona wished she could run, run, run out of that classroom as she had the day before and never come back.

I remember when Ramona named one of her dolls Chevrolet after the car.” Everyone laughed.

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.

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.

We can't always do what we want in life," answered her father, "so we do the best we can.

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.

Grown-ups are supposed to be perfect." Both her parents laughed. "Well, they are!" Ramona insisted, annoyed by their laughter.

Grown-ups often forgot that no child likes to be ordered to be nice to another child.

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

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

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.

Miss Binney stood in front of her class and began to read aloud from Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel, a book that was a favorite of Ramona’s because, unlike so many books for her age, it was neither quiet and sleepy nor sweet and pretty.

She felt good from making a lot of noise, she felt good from the hard work from walking so far in her tin can stilts, she felt good from calling a grown-up pieface and from the triumph of singing backwards from ninety-nine to one. She felt good from being out after dark with the rain on her face and the streetlights shining down on her.

One spring day Ramona had got lost, because she started out to find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

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

But maybe when he has worked at ShopRite longer, he will like it better. New jobs take getting used to.

I know,” answered Yard Ape, “but we just keep him for a pet.

That’s my brother Germy,” said Daisy. “He thinks he’s a genius because he’s in high school.” “Jeremy,” corrected the brother to Ramona and added, “Tinsel Teeth,” to his sister.

Then she decided her mother had not really guessed because she often asked where the fire was when Ramona was in a hurry.

Ramona was the sort of girl who was always early because something might happen that she didn't want to miss.

Until this minute she had thought all adults were supposed to like all children. She understood by now misunderstandings were to be expected- she had had several with teachers - and often children and grown-ups did not agree, but things somehow worked out. For a grown-up to actually dislike a child and try to shame her, she was sure had to be wrong, very, very wrong.

Why don’t you turn on the dawnzer?” Ramona asked, proud of her new word. Beezus looked up from her book. “What are you talking about?” she asked Ramona. “What’s a dawnzer?” Ramona was scornful. “Silly. Everybody knows what a dawnzer is.” “I don’t,” said Mr. Quimby, who had been reading the evening paper. “What is a dawnzer?” “A lamp,” said Ramona. “It gives a lee light. We sing about it every morning in kindergarten.” A puzzled silence fell over the room until Beezus suddenly shouted with laughter. “She-she means—” she gasped, “The Star-Spangled B-banner!” Her laughter dwindled to giggles. “She means the dawn’s early light.

History of Drama did leave me with one valuable thought. One of the playwrights--was it Lope de Vega?--believed that ideas were somehow spewed into the atmosphere to be seized by anyone with a receptive mind, and that upon receiving an idea one should use it immediately because others were sure to pluck the same idea from the spheres. This one wisp of philosophy, no more than a sentence or two from a college course, has haunted me all my writing life.

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

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.

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.

Maybe her father was angry with her. Maybe he had gone away because she tried to make him stop smoking. She thought she was saving his life, but maybe she was being mean to him. Her mother said she must not annoy her father, because he was worried about being out of work. Maybe she had made him so angry he did not love her anymore. Maybe he had gone away because he did not love her. She thought of all the scary things she had seen on television-houses that had fallen down in earthquakes, people shooting people, big hairy men on motorcycles -and she knew she needed her father to keep her safe.

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,

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?