I hate to lend a book I love…it never seems quite the same when it comes back to me.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERYI 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.
More Lucy Maud Montgomery Quotes
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There are so many unpleasant things in the world already that there is no use in imagining any more.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY -
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.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY -
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
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Gilbert put his arm about them. ‘Oh, you mothers!’ he said. ‘You mothers! God knew what He was about when He made you.
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Life, deal gently with her … Love, never desert her
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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 -
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 -
My life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY -
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
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It’s not what the world holds for you. It’s what you bring to it.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY -
Mrs. Spencer said it was wicked of me to talk like that, but I didn’t mean to be wicked. It’s so easy to be wicked without knowing it, isn’t it?
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY -
That is one good thing about this world – there are always sure to be more springs.
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It’s the worst kind of cruelty — the thoughtless kind. You can’t cope with it.
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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.
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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.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY