l-m-montgomery

The dark hills, with the darker spruces marching over them, looked grim on early falling nights, but Ingleside bloomed with firelight and laughter, though the winds come in from the Atlantic singing of mournful things. "Why isn't the wind happy, Mummy?" asked Walter one night. "Because it is remembering all the sorrow of the world since it began," answered Anne.

Anne looked at the white young mother with a certain awe that had never entered into her feelings for Diana before. Could this pale woman with the rapture in her eyes be the little black-curled, rosy-cheeked Diana she had played with in vanished schooldays? It gave her a queer desolate feeling that she herself somehow belonged only in those past years and had no business in the present at all.

_there was something about her that made you feel it was safe to tell her secrets.

Isn't it queer that the things we writhe over at night are seldom wicked things? Just humiliating ones.

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

You must pay the penalty of growing-up, Paul. You must leave fairyland behind you.

If a kiss could be seen I think it would look like a violet,' said Priscilla.Anne glowed.'I'm so glad you spoke that thought, Priscilla, instead of just thinking it and keeping it to yourself. This world would be a much more interesting place_although it is very interesting, anyhow_if people spoke out their real thoughts.

_but youth yearned to youth.

...And every day in heaven will be more beautiful than the one before it Davy," assured Anne.

I can't understand how she could have wanted to live back here, away from everything," said Jane. "Oh, I can easily understand that," said Anne thoughtfully. "I wouldn't want it myself for a steady thing because, although I love the fields and woods, I love people too...

_I'm sorry, and a little dissatisfied as well. Miss Stacy told me long ago that by the time I was twenty my character would be formed, for good or evil. I don't feel that it's what it should be. It's full of flaws.' 'So's everybody's,' said Aunt Jamesina cheerfully. 'Mine's cracked in a hundred places. Your Miss Stacy likely meant that when you are twenty your character would have got its permanent bent in one direction or 'tother, and would go on developing in that line.

Heaven must be very beautiful, of course, the Bible says so _ but, Anne, it won't be what I've been used to.

Why should one hate you when you were so small? Could you be worth hating?

We always hate people who surprise our secrets_

_hate's got to be a disease with me.

We are never half so interesting when we have learned that language is given us to enable us to conceal our thoughts.

The gods, so says the old superstition, do not like to behold too happy mortals. It is certain, at least, that some human beings do not.