I’m afraid our old world has come to an end, Rilla. We’ve got to face the fact. (Walter)
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERYThere are so many unpleasant things in the world already that there is no use in imagining any more.
More Lucy Maud Montgomery Quotes
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The world looks like something God had just imaged for his own pleasure, doesn’t it?
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That is one good thing about this world – there are always sure to be more springs.
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There are so many unpleasant things in the world already that there is no use in imagining any more.
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We are never half so interesting when we have learned that language is given us to enable us to conceal our thoughts.
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We pay a price for everything we get or take in this world; and although ambitions are well worth having, they are not to be cheaply won, but exact their dues of work and self denial, anxiety and discouragement.
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I hate to lend a book I love…it never seems quite the same when it comes back to me.
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Youth is not a vanished thing but something that dwells forever in the heart.
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I shall give life here my best, and I believe it will give its best to me in return.
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But I believe I rather like superstitious people. They lend color to life. Wouldn’t it be a rather drab world if everybody was wise and sensible . . . and good? What would we find to talk about?
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My life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes.
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Facts are stubborn things, but, as some one has wisely said, not half so stubborn as fallacies.
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Fancies are like shadows…you can’t cage them, they’re such wayward, dancing things.
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Don’t look at me so sorrowfully and so disapprovingly, dearest. I can’t be sober and serious – everything looks so rosy and rainbowy to me.
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trees, unlike so many humans, always improve on acquaintance. No matter how much you like them at the start you are sure to like them much better further on, and best of all when you have known them for years and enjoyed intercourse with them in all seasons.
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In daylight I belong to the world . . . in the night to sleep and eternity. But in the dusk I’m free from both and belong only to myself . . . and you
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY