l-m-montgomery

She had dreamed some brilliant dreams during the past winter and now they lay in the dust around her. In her present mood of self-disgust, she could not immediately begin dreaming again. And she discovered that, while solitude with dreams is glorious, solitude without them has few charms.

It takes all sorts of people to make a world, as I've often heard, but I think there are some who could be spared,' Anne told her reflection in the east gable mirror that night.

People who are different from other people are always called peculiar,' said Anne.

We've had a beautiful friendship, Diana. We've never marred it by one quarrel or coolness or unkind word; and I hope it will always be so. But things can't be quite the same after this. You'll have other interests. I'll just be on the outside.

Even when I'm alone I have real good company _ dreams and imaginations and pretendings. I like to be alone now and then, just to think over things and taste them. But I love friendships _ and nice, jolly little times with people.

Thank goodness, we can choose our friends. We have to take our relatives as they are, and be thankful_

_I'm so thankful for friendship. It beautifies life so much.

Kindred spirits alone do not change with the changing years.

I hate to lend a book I love_it never seems quite the same when it comes back to me_

It's the worst kind of cruelty _ the thoughtless kind. You can't cope with it.

I don't believe Old Nick can be so very ugly,' said Aunt Jamesina reflectively. 'He wouldn't do so much harm if he was. I always think of him as a rather handsome gentleman.

I'm really a very happy, contented little person in spite of my broken heart.

I read somewhere once that souls were like flowers,' said Priscilla.'Then your soul is a golden narcissus,' said Anne, 'and Diana's is like a red, red rose. Jane's is an apple blossom, pink and wholesome and sweet.''And our own is a white violet, with purple streaks in its heart,' finished Priscilla.

I suppose that's how it looks in prose. But it's very different if you look at it through poetry_and I think it's nicer_' Anne recovered herself and her eyes shone and her cheeks flushed_ 'to look at it through poetry.

Don't you just love poetry that gives you a crinkly feeling up and down your back?

She suddenly found herself laughing without bitterness.

_and he wasn't reconciled to dying. Dora told him he was going to a better world. "Mebbe, mebbe," says poor Ben, "but I'm sorter used to the imperfections of this one.

Some are born old maids, some achieve old maidenhood, and some have old maidenhood thrust upon them ," parodied Miss Lavendar whimsically.