We mustn’t let next week rob us of this week’s joy.
Don’t give up all your romance, Anne,” he whispered shyly, “a little bit is a good thing – not too much, of course, but keep a little of it, Anne, keep a little of it.
Any human companionship, even the dearest and most perfect, would have been alien to her then. She was sufficient unto herself, needing not love nor comradeship nor any human emotion to round out her felicity. Such moments come rarely in any life, but when they do come they are inexpressibly wonderful – as if the finite were for a second infinity – as if humanity were for a space uplifted into divinity – as if all ugliness had vanished, leaving only flawless beauty.
The Piper is coming nearer,” he said, “he is nearer than he was that evening I saw him before. His long, shadowy cloak is blowing around him. He pipes – he pipes – and we must follow – Jem and Carl and Jerry and I – round and round the world. Listen – listen – can’t you hear his wild music?
Marilla!” Anne sat down on Marilla’s gingham lap, took Marilla’s lined face between her hands, and looked gravely and tenderly into Marilla’s eyes. “I’m not a bit changed – not really. I’m only just pruned down and branched out. The real me – back here – is just the same. It won’t make a bit of difference where I go or how much I change outwardly; at heart I shall always be your little Anne, who will love you and Matthew and dear Green Gables more and better every day of her life.
She was as intense in her hatreds as in her loves.
I don’t say Valancy deliberately murdered these lovers as she outgrew them. One simply faded away as another came. Things are very convenient in this respect in Blue Castles.
The trouble with you, Anne, is that you’re thinking too much about yourself. You should just think of Mrs. Allan and what would be nicest and most agreeable to her,” said Marilla, hitting for once in her life on a very sound and pithy piece of advice. Anne instantly realized this.
Mrs. Rachel was one of those delightful and popular people who pride themselves on speaking their mind without fear or favor.
I do like a road, because you can be always wondering what is at the end of it.
Well, that is another hope gone. My life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes. That’s a sentence I read in a book once, and I say it over to comfort myself whenever I’m disappointed in anything.
But she had, as I have told you, the glimmerings of a sense of humor – which is simply another name for a sense of fitness of things;.
Well, anyway, when I am grown up,” said Anne decidedly, “I’m always going to talk to little girls as if they were too, and I’ll never laugh when they use big words. I know from sorrowful experience how that hurts one’s feelings.
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.
Mrs. Hammon told me that God made my hair red on purpose and I haven’t card for him since.
Oh, Gilbert, don’t let’s ever grow too old and wise... no, not too old and silly for fairyland.
A child of about eleven, garbed in a very short, very tight, very ugly dress of yellowish-gray wincey. She wore a faded brown sailor hat and beneath the hat, extending down her back, were two braids of very thick, decidedly red hair. Her face was small, white and thin, also much freckled; her mouth was large and so were her eyes, which looked green in some lights and moods and gray in others.
But there is a destiny which shapes the ends of young misses who are born with the itch for writing tingling in their baby fingertips, and in the fullness of time this destiny gave to Emily the desire of her heart – gave.
Oh, WHY can’t boys be just sensible!
If I had my way I’d shut everything out of your life but happiness and pleasure, Anne,” said Gilbert.