A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett

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“Küçük Prenses (A Little Princess) by Frances Hodgson Burnett
This was the “girlie” book I enjoyed very much. It was part of my library which was formed by my father before I was born. As an extra delight to the story itself, they were showing TV series at the time on our one and only channel back in Turkey. In black and white. I was glued to the screen. I recently tracked down a free Kindle version of it. I might sit down and read it one day again.”

Well, this is what I wrote in my post called My Favourite Books Growing Up on my writer website some time ago. And today I finished reading A Little Princess in English. It was an absolute delight. I guess, it’s good to get in touch with your “little” self every now and then.

Here’s my highlights from A Little Princess… This time, in English:

She did not care very much for other little girls, but if she had plenty of books she could console herself. She liked books more than anything else, and was, in fact, always inventing stories of beautiful things and telling them to herself. Sometimes she had told them to her father, and he had liked them as much as she did.

Sara often thought afterward that the house was somehow exactly like Miss Minchin. It was respectable and well furnished, but everything in it was ugly; and the very armchairs seemed to have hard bones in them.

It was just then that Miss Minchin entered the room. She was very like her house, Sara felt: tall and dull, and respectable and ugly. She had large, cold, fishy eyes, and a large, cold, fishy smile. It spread itself into a very large smile when she saw Sara and Captain Crewe.

When Becky went downstairs, she was not the same Becky who had staggered up, loaded down by the weight of the coal scuttle. She had an extra piece of cake in her pocket, and she had been fed and warmed, but not only by cake and fire. Something else had warmed and fed her, and the something else was Sara.

How it is that animals understand things I do not know, but it is certain that they do understand. Perhaps there is a language which is not made of words and everything in the world understands it. Perhaps there is a soul hidden in everything and it can always speak, without even making a sound, to another soul.

“It will be like a story from the Arabian Nights,” he said. “Only an Oriental could have planned it. It does not belong to London fogs.”

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