Dear old world’, she murmured, ‘you are very lovely, and I am glad to be alive in you.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERYOne can’t get over the habit of being a little girl all at once.
More Lucy Maud Montgomery Quotes
-
-
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 -
Some nights are like honey – and some like wine – and some like wormwood.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY -
Anne, are you killed?’ shrieked Diana, throwing herself on her knees beside her friend. ‘Oh, Anne, dear Anne, speak just one word to me and tell me if you’re killed.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY -
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 -
It’s not what the world holds for you. It’s what you bring to it.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY -
One can’t get over the habit of being a little girl all at once.
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 -
All life lessons are not learned at college,’she thought. Life teaches them everywhere.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY -
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.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY -
Oh Marilla, looking forward to things is half the pleasure of them,” exclaimed Anne.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY -
Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY -
I shall give life here my best, and I believe it will give its best to me in return.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY -
What had seemed easy in imagination was rather hard in reality.
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY -
I have really done so few bad things that they have to keep harping on the old ones [.]
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY -
The world looks like something God had just imaged for his own pleasure, doesn’t it?
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY