It was a lovely afternoon – such an afternoon as only September can produce when summer has stolen back for one more day of dream and glamour.
It’s so easy to be wicked without knowing it, isn’t it?
Our library isn’t very extensive,” said Anne, “but every book in it is a friend. We’ve picked our books up through the years, here and there, never buying one until we had first read it and knew that it belonged to the race of Joseph.
It never rains but it pours.
Changes come all the time. Just as soon as things get really nice they change,′ she said with a sigh.
You can’t have many exclamation points left,′ thought Anne, ’but no doubt the supply of italics is inexhaustible.
I hope you don’t think I’m one of those terrible people who make you feel that you have to talk to them all the time.
It is not,” Valency could hear her mother’s prim, dictatorial voice asserting, “it is not MAIDENLY to think about MEN.
Why should one hate you when you were so small? Could you be worth hating?
After all, it was nice to be loved than to be rich and admired and famous.
It was not, of course, a proper thing to do. But then I have never pretended, nor will ever pretend, that Emily was a proper child. Books are not written about proper children. They would be so dull nobody would read them.
Don’t believe in everything you see girls, and only half of what you hear.
There’s always a piece of unfinished work left,′ said Mrs. Lynde, with tears in her eyes. ‘But I supposed there’s always some one to finish it.
He was a cat of double personality – or else, as Susan vowed, he was possessed by the devil.
The things you wanted so much when you were a child don’t seem half so wonderful to you when you get them.
An hour ago on the sand-shore he has been looking at her as if she were the only being of any importance in the world. And now she was a nobody.
Rilla was not fond of Mary Vance. She had never forgotten the humiliating day when Mary had chased her through the village with a dried codfish.
Oh, Anne, things are so mixed-up in real life. They aren’t clear-cut and trimmed off, as they are in novels.
Captain Jim thought women were delightful creatures, who ought to have the vote, and everything else they wanted, bless their hearts; but he did not believe they could write.
The other day Nan said, ‘Nothing can ever be quite the same for any of us again.’ It made me feel rebellious. Why shouldn’t things be the same again – when everything is over and Jem and Jerry are back? We’ll all be happy and jolly again and these days will seem just like a bad dream.