Pride is cold company.
Not lovelier. But a different kind of loveliness. There are so many kinds of loveliness.
I always say good night to the things I love, just as I would to people.
I’m not in the depths of despair this morning. I never can be in the morning. Isn’t it a splendid thing that there are mornings?
Don’t be fretting... about me marrying. Marrying’s a trouble and not marrying’s a trouble and I sticks to the trouble I knows.
Ruby Gillis says when she grows up she’s going to have ever so many beaus on the string and have them all crazy about her; but I think that would be too exciting. I’d rather just have one in his right mind.
Time is kinder than we think,′ thought Anne. ‘It’s a dreadful mistake to cherish bitterness for years... hugging it to our hearts like a treasure.
Home and I are such good friends.
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.
I don’t know whether it is any use forgiving people or not. Yes, it is, it makes you feel more comfortable yourself.
If you believe in a thing it doesn’t matter whether it exists or not.
Experience teaches sense. You can’t learn it in a college course.
That boy ought to sleep with a rubber band around his head to train his ears not to stick out. I had a beau once who did that and it improved him immensely.
Gilbert would never have dreamed of writing a sonnet to her eyebrows. But then, Gilbert could see a joke. She had once told Roy a funny story – and he had not seen the point of it. She recalled the chummy laugh she and Gilbert had had together over it, and wondered uneasily if life with a man who had no sense of humor might not be somewhat uninteresting in the long run. But who could expect a melancholy, inscrutable hero to see the humorous side of things? It would be flatly unreasonable.
The stars twinkled through the fir-trees and right and left the harbour range-lights shone like great earth stars. Presently a moon rose and there was a sparkling trail over the harbour like a lady’s silken dress.
Anyhow, we’ve decided on the experiment and goodness only knows what will come of it.
I see you have a cat.” “Wrong.” Father Cassidy shook his head and groaned dismally. “A cat has me.
For spring is just around the corner and I have forgotten everything but gladness.
Books are not written about proper children. They would be so dull nobody would read them.
Some women’s intended from the start to be old maids, and I’m afraid I’m one of them, Miss Shirley, ma’am, because I’ve awful little patience with the men.