The kind of juvenile story I like best to write – and read, too, for the matter of that – is a good, jolly one, “art for art’s sake,” or rather “fun for fun’s sake,” with no insidious moral hidden away in it like a pill in a spoonful of jam!
More than ever at that instant did she long for speech – speech that would conceal and protect where dangerous silence might betray.
He certainly must have money, for he has just showered Jane with jewelry. Her engagement ring is a diamond cluster so big that it looks like a plaster on Jane’s fat paw.
How those girls enjoyed putting their nest in order! As Phil said, it was almost as good as getting married. You had the fun of homemaking without the bother of a husband.
On a day like this there’s no such word as fail in my bright lexicon.
When you know things you have to go by facts. But when you just dream things there’s nothing to hold you down.
Everything that’s worth having is some trouble – Anne Shirley.
Its wonderful to have ambition.
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.
I wonder if perfume could set a man drunk.
Ah, children are not what they were in my young days. They listened to their parents then.
You know there are some people, like Matthew and Mrs. Allen, that you can love right off without any trouble. And there are others, like Mrs. Lynde, that you have to try very hard to love. You know you ought to love them because they know so much and are such active workers in the church, but you have to keep reminding yourself of it all the time or else you forget.
It’s snowing some today and Marilla says the old woman in the sky is shaking her feather beds. Is the old woman in the sky God’s wife, Anne? I want to know. “Mrs.
I believe in a girl being fitted to earn her own living whether she ever has to or not. You’ll.
Many people have told me that they regretted Matthew’s death in Green Gables. I regret it myself. If I had the book to write over again I would spare Matthew for several years. But when I wrote it I thought he must die, that there might be a necessity for self-sacrifice on Anne’s part, so poor Matthew joined the long procession of ghosts that haunt my literary past.
It doesn’t matter if a man does use bad grammar so long as he is a good provider and doesn’t go poking round the pantry to see how much sugar you’ve used in a week.
She isn’t like any of the girls I ever knew, or any of the girls I was myself.
Good behavior in the first place is more important than theatrical apologies afterwards.
Oh, as Dean says, nobody is free – never, except just for a few brief moments now and then, when the flash comes, or when as on my haystack night, the soul slips over into eternity for a little space. All the rest of our years we are slaves to something – traditions – conventions – ambitions – relations.
Ye’ve only got to live one day at a time, darlint. One can always be living just one more day.