She had a way of embroidering life with stars.
Matthew, much to his own surprise, was enjoying himself. Like most quiet folks he liked talkative people when they were willing to do the talking themselves and did not expect him to keep up his end of it.
That’s one splendid thing about such affairs – it’s so lovely to look back to them.
You mayn’t get the things themselves; but nothing can prevent you from having the fun of looking forward to them.
I wouldn’t want to marry anybody who was wicked, but I think I’d like it if he could be wicked and wouldn’t.
Their happiness was in each others keeping, and both were unafraid.
There must be a limit to the mistakes one person can make, and when I get to the end of them, then I’ll be through with them. That’s a comforting thought.
Anne: “But have you ever noticed one encouraging thing about me, Marilla? I never make the same mistake twice”. Marilla: “I don’t know as that’s much benefit when you’re always making new ones”.
The world looks like something God had just imaged for his own pleasure, doesn’t it?
That’s the worst of growing up, and I’m beginning to realize it. The things you wanted so much when you were a child don’t seem half so wonderful to you when you get them.
I can’t cheer up – I don’t want to cheer up. It’s nicer to be miserable!
I don’t know that she is as amusing as she was when she was a child, but she makes me love her and I like people who make me love them. It saves me so much trouble in making myself love them.
At seventeen dreams DO satisfy because you think the realities are waiting for you farther on.
I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.
Night is beautiful when you are happy – comforting when you are in grief – terrible when you are lonely and unhappy.
Gossip, as usual, was one-third right and two-thirds wrong.
Tears don’t hurt like the ache does.
Desire grows by what it feeds on.
For there is no bond more lasting than that formed by the mutual confidences of that magic time when youth is slipping from the sheath of childhood and beginning to wonder what lies for it beyond those misty hills that bound the golden road.
Isn’t it better to have your heart broken than to have it wither up? Before it could be broken it must have felt something splendid. That would be worth the pain.