There must be a limit to the mistakes one person can make, and when I get to the end of them, then I’ll be through with them. That’s a comforting thought
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERYIt’s the worst kind of cruelty — the thoughtless kind. You can’t cope with it.
More Lucy Maud Montgomery Quotes
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I shall give life here my best, and I believe it will give its best to me in return.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY -
We are never half so interesting when we have learned that language is given us to enable us to conceal our thoughts.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY -
Some nights are like honey – and some like wine – and some like wormwood.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY -
Youth is not a vanished thing but something that dwells forever in the heart.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY -
One can’t get over the habit of being a little girl all at once.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY -
My life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY -
Life, deal gently with her … Love, never desert her
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY -
She had never before minded being alone. Now she dreaded it. When she was alone now she felt so dreadfully alone.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY -
Heretics are wicked, but they’re mighty int’resting. It’s jest that they’ve got sorter lost looking for God, being under the impression that He’s hard to find – which He ain’t never.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY -
I do know my own mind,’ protested Anne. ‘The trouble is, my mind changes and then I have to get acquainted with it all over again.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY -
Tomorrow is always fresh, with no mistakes in it.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY -
I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers. It would be terrible if we just skipped from September to November, wouldn’t it?
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY -
All life lessons are not learned at college,’she thought. Life teaches them everywhere.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY -
That is one good thing about this world – there are always sure to be more springs.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY -
March came in that winter like the meekest and mildest of lambs, bringing days that were crisp and golden and tingling, each followed by a frosty pink twilight which gradually lost itself in an elfland of moonshine.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY







