The Blue Chest of Rachel Ward was another ower-true tale. Rachel Ward was Eliza Montgomery, a cousin of my father's, who died in Toronto a few years ago. The blue chest was in the kitchen of Uncle Joh...
Shirley, the little brown boy, as he was known in the family Who's Who, was asleep in Susan's arms. He was brown-haired, brown-eyed and brown-skinned, with very rosy cheeks, and he was Susan's especia...
She was an expert in dealing with situations without precedent.
She looks just as music sounds, I think,' answered Anne.
Prose, rightly written and read, is sometimes as beautiful as poetry.
Podoba mi się człowiek, którego oczy mówią więcej niż wargi.
Once upon a time we all walked on the golden road. It was a fair highway, through the Land of Lost Delight; shadow and sunshine were blessedly mingled, and every turn and dip revealed a fresh charm an...
Oh, oh, it's not meself that do be knowing what the girls of today are coming to. Trying to make thimselves into min and not succading very well at that.
Oh, Miss Shirley, can you smell the apple-blossom fragrance? Having a nose, Anne could.
Lucy Maud Montgomery THE COMPLETE ANNE OF GREEN GABLES
It must be lovely to be grown up, Marilla, when just being treated as if you were is so nice...Well, anyway, when I grow up, I'm always going to talk to little girls as if they were, too, and I'll nev...
It makes me very sad at times to think about her. But really, Marilla, one can't stay sad very long in such an interesting world, can one?
Isn't it splendid to think of all the things there are to find out about? It just makes me feel glad to be alive—it's such an interesting world. It wouldn't be half so interesting if we know all about...
I've put out a lot of little roots these two years, Anne told the moon, and when I'm pulled up they're going to hurt a great deal. But it's best to go, I think, and, as Marilla says, there's no good r...
I'm afraid you'll find out all too soon that life's a melancholy business.
I won’t be reasonable—I can’t be reasonable—I AM reasonable.
I wish I were dead, or that it were tomorrow night,' groaned Phil.
I suppose that's how it looks in prose. But it's very different if you look at it through poetry…and I think it's nicer…' Anne recovered herself and her eyes shone and her cheeks flushed… 'to look at...
I hate to lend a book I love…it never seems quite the same when it comes back to me…
I don't want sunbursts and marble halls. I just want YOU.