If you love me as I love you Nothing but death can part us two.
The things you wanted so much when you were a child don't seem half so wonderful to you when you get them.
No... it's lovely here when the dark is your friend, isn't it? When you turn on the light, it makes the dark your enemy... and it glowers in at you resentfully.
Gilbert put his arm about them. 'Oh, you mothers!' he said. 'You mothers! God knew what He was about when He made you.
P.S.2. I have put in a new pen. And I love you because you aren't pompous like Dr. Carter . . . and I love you because you haven't got sticky-out ears like Johnny. And . . . the very best reason of all . . . I love you for just being Gilbert!
I will keep faith, Walter," she said steadily. "I will work and teach and learn and laugh, yes, I will even laugh through all my years, because of you and because of what you gave when you followed the call.
I begin to feel that life is worth living as long as there's a laugh in it.
But what is the use of being an independent old maid if you can't be silly when you want to, and when it doesn't hurt anybody? A person must have some compensations.
And people laugh at me because I use big words. But if you have big ideas you have to use big words to express them, haven't you?
Do you know what I think Mayflowers are, Marilla? I think they must be the souls of the flowers that died last summer, and this is their heaven.
But I believe I rather like superstitious people. They lend color to life. Wouldn't it be a rather drab world if everybody was wise and sensible . . . and good? What would we find to talk about?
Oh, isn't it good to be alive--like this? Wouldn't it be dreadful if one had never lived?
There's such a lot of different Annes in me. I sometimes think that is why I'm such a troublesome person. If I was just the one Anne it would be ever so much more comfortable, but then it wouldn't be half so interesting.
I thought Marilla Cuthburt was an old fool when I heard she'd adopted a girl out of an orphan asylum," she said to herself, "but I guess she didn't make much of a mistake after all. If I'd a child like Anne in the house all the time I'd be a better and happier woman.
Anne was a sweet-souled lass, but she could instill some venom into innocent italics when occasion required. What.
I like teaching, too," said Gilbert. "It's good training, for one thing. Why, Anne, I've learned more in the weeks I've been teaching the young ideas of White Sands than I learned in all the years I went to school myself.
People laugh at me because I use big words. But if you have big ideas, you have to use big words to express them, haven't you?
The rustle of the poplar leaves about the house worried her, it sounded so like pattering raindrops, and the dull, far-away roar of the gulf, to which she listened delightedly at other times, loving its strange, sonorous, haunting rhythm, now seemed like a prophecy of storm and disaster to a small maiden who particularly wanted a fine day.
No. I don't think I've ever been really lonely in my life, answered Anne. Even when I'm alone I have real good company — dreams and imaginations and pretendings. I LIKE to be alone now and then, just to think over things and TASTE them.
Pat wanted to comfort him for something she did not understand. She slipped her little hand into his...he had a warm pleasant hand. They walked home together so.
I went up on the hill and walked about until twilight had deepened into an autumn night with a benediction of starry quietude over it. I was alone but not lonely. I was a queen in halls of fancy.
Anne looked up. Tall and handsome and distinguished-looking—dark, melancholy, inscrutable eyes—melting, musical, sympathetic voice—yes, the very hero of her dreams stood before her in the flesh. He could not have more closely resembled her ideal if he.
The year is a book, isn't it, Marilla? Spring's pages are written in Mayflowers and violets, summer's in roses, autumn's in red maple leaves, and winter in holly and evergreen.
After all, it is fairy tales the world wants. Real life is all the "real life" we want. Give us something better in books.
Nathan always believed his wife was trying to poison him but he didn't seem to mind. He said it made life kind of exciting.
Most things are predestined, but some are just darn sheer luck, said Roaring Abel.
People who have to look after twins can't be expected to say their prayers. Now, do you honestly think they can?
She wondered if old dreams could haunt rooms - if, when one left forever the room where she had joyed and suffered and laughed and wept, something of her, intangible and invisible, yet nonetheless real, did not remain behind like a voiceful memory.
I'm so different, sighed Hazel. It was really dreadful to be so different from other people . . . and yet rather wonderful, too, as if you were a being strayed from another star. Hazel would not have been one of the common herd for anything . . . no matter what she suffered by reason of her differentness.
You've all been so sure that life is good that I've never been able to disbelieve it. Never will be able to.
I don't want to talk as much,' she said, denting her chin thoughtfully with her forefinger. ‘It's nicer to think dear, pretty thoughts and keep them in one's heart, like treasures.
I love dancing. I haven't danced since I was sixteen—but I love it. The music seems to run through my veins like quicksilver and I forget everything–everything except the delight of keeping time to it. There isn't any floor beneath me, or walls about me, or roof over me—I'm floating amid the stars.
Afar in the southwest was the great shimmering, pearl-like sparkle of an evening star in a sky that was pale golden and ethereal rose over gleaming white spaces and dark glens of spruce.
He had learned the rare secret that you must take happiness when you find it - that there is no use in marking the place and coming back to it at a more convenient season, because it will not be there then.
All that supported her through the boredom of her days was the hope of going on a dream spree at night.
It's so dreadful to have nothing to love — life is so empty — and there's nothing worse than emptiness...
I know I chatter on far too much... but if you only knew how many things I want to say and don't. Give me SOME credit.
I know I haven't much sense or sobriety, but I've got what is ever so much better — the knack of making people like me.
One can't get over the habit of being a little girl all at once.
At life's banquet of success I may not be the guest of honor, but I'll be among those present.
Thanksgiving should be celebrated in the spring...I think it would be ever so much better than having it in November when everything is dead or asleep. Then you have to remember to be thankful; but in May one simply can't help being thankful...that they are alive, if for nothing else.