A Wrinkle in Time

began to lash against the windows.

Le coew a ses raisons que la raison ne connait point. French. Pascal. The heart has its reasons, whereof reason knows nothing."

She? he? it? smiled at them, and the radiance of the smile was as tangible as a soft breeze, as directly warming as the rays of the sun

offer. She could hear wind howling in the chimneys. From all the way downstairs

“Mother’s not a bit pretty; she’s beautiful,” Charles Wallace announced, slicing liverwurst. “Therefore I bet she was awful at your age.”
“How right you are,” Mrs. Murry said. “Just give yourself time, Meg.”

“Maybe if I weren’t so repulsive-looking—maybe if I were pretty like you—”

“You’re much too straightforward to be able to pretend to be what you aren’t,” Mrs. Murry said.

Meg’s hair had been passable as long as she wore it tidily in braids.

Mrs. Murry’s flaming red hair, creamy skin, and violet eyes with long dark lashes, seemed even more spectacular in comparison with Meg’s outrageous plainness.

It was not an advantage to have a mother who was a scientist and a beauty as well.