Have you ever noticed that when people say it is their duty to tell you a certain thing you may prepare for something disagreeable? Why is it that they never seem to think it a duty to tell you the pleasant things they hear about you?
That is one consolation when you are poor – there are so many more things you can imagine about.
Reading stories is bad enough but writing them is worse.
Don’t believe in imagining things different from what they really are. When the Lord puts us in certain circumstances He doesn’t mean for us to imagine them away.
Gossip lies nine times and tells a half truth the tenth.
It’s as easy to give away a million as a hundred if you have not got either...
It makes you feel very virtuous when you forgive people, doesn’t it?
Wouldn’t it be nice if roses could talk? I’m sure they could tell us such lovely things.
I shall give life here my best, and I believe it will give its best to me in return.
Nasturtiums, who colored you, you wonderful, glowing things? You must have been fashioned out of summer sunsets.
Fear is a confession of weakness. What you fear is stronger than you, or you think it is, else you wouldn’t be afraid of it.
Facts are stubborn things, but, as some one has wisely said, not half so stubborn as fallacies.
What had seemed easy in imagination was rather hard in reality.
I believe I’ve put forth a tiny soul-root into Kingsport soil this afternoon. I hope so. I hate to feel transplanted.
But she had long ago learned that when she wandered into the realm of fancy she must go alone. The way to it was by an enchanted path where not even her dearest might follow her.
Oh, of course there’s a risk in marrying anybody, but, when it’s all said and done, there’s many a worse thing than a husband.
Oh, sometimes I think it is of no use to make friends. They only go out of your life after awhile and leave a hurt that is worse than the emptiness before they came.
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 really, Marilla, one can’t stay sad very long in such an interesting world, can one?
Secrets are generally terrible. Beauty is not hidden – only ugliness and deformity.