Little Girl Quotes

“Somewhere behind the athlete you've become and the hours of practice and the coaches who have pushed you is a little girl who fell in love with the game and never looked back... play for her.”
― Mia Hamm

“There will always be those
who say you are too young and delicate
to make anything happen for yourself.
They don't see the part of you that smolders.
Don't let their doubting drown out
the sound of your own heartbeat.

You are the first drop of rain in a hurricane.

Your bravery builds beyond you.
You are needed by all the little girls
still living in secret, writing oceans
made of monsters, and
throwing like lightning.
You don't need to grow up
to find greatness.

You are so much stronger than the world
has ever believed you could be.
The world is waiting for you
to set it on fire. Trust in yourself

and burn.”
― Clementine von Radics, Mouthful of Forevers

“Rose had the sort of eyes that manage perfectly well with things close by, but entirely blur out things far away. Because of this even the brightest stars had only appeared as silvery smudges in the darkness. In all her life, Rose had never properly seen a star.
Tonight there was a sky full.
Rose looked up, and it was like walking into a dark room and someone switching on the universe.”
― Hilary McKay, Indigo's Star

“Darling Daddy,
This is Rose.
The shed needs new wires now it has blown up.
Caddy is bringing home rock-bottom boyfriends to see if they will do for Mummy. Instead of you.
Love, Rose.”
― Hilary McKay, Indigo's Star

“Smiling face of every little girl is the signature of God’s presence.”
― Amit Ray

“Your heart has a powerful little antenna and its vibrations can be felt throughout the universe.”
― Suzy Kassem, Rise Up and Salute the Sun: The Writings of Suzy Kassem

“Darling Daddy,
This is Rose.
So flames went all up the kitchen wall. Saffron called the fire brigade and the police came too to see if it was a trick and the police woman said to Saffron Here You Are Again because of when I got lost having my glasses checked. But I was with Tom whose grandmother is a witch on top of the highest place in town.
Love, Rose.”
― Hilary McKay, Indigo's Star

“On the board was a list of words and phrases which her mother considered not suitable for use in college T-shirt design. She had been asked about them so often that in the end she had started a blacklist of banned words to which everyone could refer. Every time someone thought of a new one, she unflinchingly wrote it down...

Rose read through the list, and turned back to her letter.

These are the words I learned to spell in Mummy's art class today, she wrote, and sighed a little as she began the tedious job of copying from the board.”
― Hilary McKay, Indigo's Star

“As a young child I had Santa and Jesus all mixed up. I could identify Coke or Pepsi with just one sip, but I could not tell you for sure why they strapped Santa to a cross. Had he missed a house? Had a good little girl somewhere in the world not received the doll he’d promised her, making the father angry?” (p.3)”
― Augusten Burroughs, You Better Not Cry: Stories for Christmas

“She put her tongue out and felt the raw edges of the torn silk. She looped her tongue around them and drew them into her teeth. Just a little bit, she thought, that's all I need to free my eyelids. She pulled the tasteless web between her teeth and ground, pulling her jaw down in a grimace - it felt as it she was eating the very skin off her face. But the silk over her eyelids shifted.”
― Stephen M. Irwin, The Dead Path

“Hannah expected this to make her sob even more, but instead she found her tears drying up and her tummy growing warm. How dare they? How dare they do this to little girls? She understood now why her parents go so angry when they saw the result of bombers in the white hot streets of the Middle East, why men and women wailed in anger as well as grief as they lifted the limp bodies of children from the rubble. How dare they? No, she wasn't going to die like this, wrapped up like some helpless baby.”
― Stephen M. Irwin, The Dead Path

“Ella isn't like other little girls. She's inquisitive and curious, with a heart that senses others' emotions with the precision of Doppler radar. She drops coins from her piggy bank into the outstretched hands of the homeless in Times Square, frets over the plight of hurt animals on the roadside, and two Christmases ago, organized a coat drive at her school when she saw a little boy shivering on the playground.”
― Sarah Jio, Morning Glory

“A beautiful, swirled brown and white shell like the one Ursula used to wear, but larger. A whelk, not a nautilus. Vareet picked it up in wonder, turning it over in her hands, admiring its gleam in the moonlight. On a whim she put it to her ear.
Her eyes widened.
In the depths of the shell, she could hear what must have been the echo of distant waves... and also the song of a mermaid.”
― Liz Braswell, Part of Your World

“I remember-

The world was in your embrace
I was only your little girl
It was easy, it was simple
I was sleeping in the shade
Of your eyelashes.”
― Emmanuelle Soni-Dessaigne

“My mind is a mess, but I love it nonetheless.”
― Faith Marie, "Little Girl"

“And can we get a tarte normande, the kind you used to love as a little girl?"
The mere mention has my mouth watering and my heart aching. I can almost taste the tarts my mother used to make, with apples from the trees in our garden, loads of freshly grated cinnamon, and a dollop of whipped cream on top.
"And can we look for treasure on the beach?"
"Yes, sweet child."
"And can we throw rocks in the water and look for starfish in the tide pools?”
― Sarah Jio, All the Flowers in Paris

“One little girl didn't mind the fading sun. Her mittened hands sculpted a snowman, happy to work without distractions. She whispered apologies as she thrust a carrot into his face, assuring him it was for the best and he'd be able to breathe much better now, just try and see.”
― Angela Panayotopulos, The Wake Up

“What would you like, black or green?"
"Green, please. It has an earthier taste."
"What is you name?"
"Leila. It means 'evening,' but I would rather have a morning name. I was at the other party, but I like your party better."
"I see. Cup or mug?"
"Cup, please. The best china. Gold-rimmed, no flowers. No cracks or chips. It's okay. I don't break things.”
― Grace Dane Mazur, The Garden Party: A Novel

“My dress is of plain forest green wool, but the other girls are wearing beautiful tunics the color of gems- ruby dresses with sapphire mantles and dappled with jewels that dance before me like little insects on fire. My hair is dark as a crow, but theirs is red and gold and even longer than mine. A ray of sun slashes through the turbulent Irish sky, and I see that my friends' perfect skin shimmers in the sun, making them almost translucent.”
― Karen Essex, Dracula in Love

“Eat up, sweet one. And if you ask, I am sure Thrasius will make a pear patina tonight." Apicius's voice always held a special warmth when he addressed his daughter.
"Please, Thrasius! I love it when you make the pears pretty!"
I laughed at her description of the fruit, honey, and egg dish. I always added an extra layer of pears on top, and I had to admit, they did look pretty once they were cooked and shining with oil. "I would be pleased to make that for you, little Domina."
Spontaneously, Apicata ran around the table and gave me a big hug.”
― Crystal King, Feast of Sorrow

“I made the little girl all of her favorite dishes, and carved her little animals out of vegetables to adorn her plate. When she saw them, she ran to me and gave me a giant hug and told me how much she missed me. I hugged her for a long time and said nothing when I saw she was trying very hard not to cry.
When I went to the market that day, I bought a honey cake from the temple of Ceres, paying extra for a protection blessing from the priestess. I gave it to Apicata with her afternoon meal, and while surely she had seen temple protection cakes and knew what they were, she ate it without a word.”
― Crystal King, Feast of Sorrow

“Hadassah looked into Vashti's eyes and searched her face as though she was seeing beyond her ability to comprehend. She reached a small hand to touch Vashti's face, then placed a hand on Vashti's protruding middle. "You will have a baby soon," Hadassah said. "You are pretty and have kind eyes."
Vashti sat straighter. She took the child's hand. "And you are young to say such things."
"She has always been a bright child," Levia said.
Vashti nodded. She had no reason to detain the woman or the child, yet a part of her longed to do just that. At last common sense won out, and she cupped Hadassah's face and slowly rose. She looked at Levia. "Take good care of her. She is one who could come to great favor or great harm for her beauty."
"Thank you, Majesty. I will be extra watchful for your warning."
Vashti dismissed them, wondering what had caused her to say such a thing, yet feeling some strange sense that she had done well. She watched Levia, with Hadassah in hand, walk toward the gate, where Hadassah looked back at her and smiled. Warmth like the break of dawn after the darkness washed over Vashti, and she wondered if she had touched the face of an angel.”
― Jill Eileen Smith, Star of Persia:

“How nice that you want to come to church with us, Maraia."
The girl's eyes are filled with a golden light, her tiny voice is strong and sure.
"When someone calls, we must come.”
― Anne Østby, Pieces of Happiness

“Can you please watch over Maraia, Lord? There's something special about Sai's little girl. She's always willing to help, and easy to love. No wonder Sai would rather keep her at home and hasn't sent her to school yet.
You know it's been hard for Sai, Lord. Her husband is gone, no one's seen him since he went to Suva to find work. Sai does what she can with her vegetables and her chickens, but she can barely scrape together enough for schoolbooks and a uniform for one of her two daughters. The older girl is the smarter one; Sai says she's going to be a doctor. Maraia is thoughtful and wise. As if she knows the secret of the sea turtles, or why the tagimoucia flower is the color of bleeding tears.”
― Anne Østby, Pieces of Happiness

“Fruits were my candy as a little girl growing up in Barbados.
I was surrounded by a variety of fruit trees: Tamarind, cherry, mango, dunks, papaya, guava, pear, sugar apple, golden apple, and gooseberry trees.”
― Charmaine J. Forde

“When I was a little girl growing up in Barbados-
I never had to worry about 5-a-day,
On a given day, I ate hog plums, mangoes, sugar apples, tamarinds, golden- apples, gooseberries, ackees, and dunks.”
― Charmaine J. Forde

“This is going to be so awesome,” Summer said. “I can feel it in my toes. My excitement toes are tingling.”
― Jason Krumbine, The Impossible Rescue

“She was studying a nearby bush covered with vibrant yellow pompom flowers.
"Wattle," he said.
"Golden wattle," she corrected.
"You're right."
"Did you know," she began, "that the seedlings from a golden wattle can live for up to fifty years?"
"That so?"
"That's a long time."
"It is."
"How old are you?"
"Younger than fifty." He was thirty-six, in fact.
"Wattle seeds are germinated by bushfires." Evie Turner nodded with vague disdain toward her parents, still engaged in heated discussion in the distance. "She's frightened of bushfires. That's because she's English. But I'm not. I'm Australian and golden wattles are my favorite flower and I'm not going to live in England no matter what she thinks."
With that, before Percy had a chance to tell her that golden wattles were his favorite, too, she'd run off to join the adults, sun-browned legs leaping over fallen logs with the expertise of one who seemed more familiar with this lonely place than she ought to be.”
― Kate Morton, Homecoming

“With her long, straight, fair hair and wide, all-seeing blue eyes, there was something of the Midwich cuckoo about Evie Turner. Mr. Simon Ackroyd, the visiting science teacher, was to say of her later that he'd "rarely met a girl so eager to ask intelligent questions and so apt to make one feel a fool when seeking to give a satisfactory answer.”
― Kate Morton, Homecoming

“Remembering the careful way the cooks she'd met chose their ingredients--- the snails at L'Ami Louis, Taeb's saffron, Baldwin's asparagus--- Stella thought Django was more like a magician, conjuring dishes out of thin air. By the time George nudged Stella aside to poke his nose in the door, Lucie was strewing crisp breadcrumbs on top of a thick vegetable potage, and Django was stirring a tart lemon pudding. Downstairs, customers lingered, people who had intended on stopping in for a moment stayed on as increasingly seductive scents wafted through the shop.
Unwilling to admit that he was pleased, George tasted the pudding and grumbled, "You've used up all the eggs. And I wanted gingerbread for tonight's reading."
"Gingerbread!" Django pulled a face. "Nous sommes en France. I will make something more appropriate." Still standing in the doorway, Stella wondered how he would manage this; he'd used everything in the kitchen except an aged pound cake resembling a rock, a handful of desiccated dried apricots, and the sour milk.
"We'll make some coffee." Django was tearing up the stale cake. As she watched, he produced curds from the sour milk, cooked the apricots into jam, and soaked the cake in coffee. With a flourish, he pulled a bar of chocolate from his pocket. "J'ai toujours du chocolat sur moi." He melted the chocolate, stirring in the last of the coffee. "I always have chocolate. You never know when you will need it." Against her better judgement, Stella was charmed.
Lucie stood close by, watching him layer the coffee-drenched cake with jam, curds, and chocolate, grabbing each spoon as he finished. "Will you make this for my birthday?" she asked.
"No."
"Please," she begged.
"For your birthday I will make something better.”
― Ruth Reichl, The Paris Novel