There are so many unpleasant things in the world already that there is no use in imagining any more.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERYThere are so many unpleasant things in the world already that there is no use in imagining any more.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERYMaples are such sociable trees … They’re always rustling and whispering to you.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERYThank goodness, we can choose our friends. We have to take our relatives as they are, and be thankful.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERYMy life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERYOh Marilla, looking forward to things is half the pleasure of them,” exclaimed Anne.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERYLife, deal gently with her … Love, never desert her
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERYAll life lessons are not learned at college,’she thought. Life teaches them everywhere.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERYShe had looked her duty courageously in the face and found it a friend – as duty ever is when we meet it frankly.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERYIt’s so hard to get up again—although of course the harder it is the more satisfaction you have when you do get up, haven’t you?
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERYI’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 MONTGOMERYNext to trying and winning, the best thing is trying and failing.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERYShe had never before minded being alone. Now she dreaded it. When she was alone now she felt so dreadfully alone.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERYDear old world’, she murmured, ‘you are very lovely, and I am glad to be alive in you.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERYFear is the original sin. Almost all of the evil in the world has its origin in the fact that some one is afraid of something.It is a cold slimy serpent coiling about you. It is horrible to live with fear; and it is of all things degrading.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERYAnne was always glad in the happiness of her friends; but it is sometimes a little lonely to be surrounded everywhere by happiness that is not your own.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERYMarch 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