If you buy your experience it's your own. So it's no matter how much you pay for it.
I've done my best, and I begin to understand what is meant by 'the joy of strife'. Next to trying and winning, the best thing is trying and failing.
I'm just tired of everything . . . even of the echoes. There is nothing in my life but echoes . . . echoes of lost hopes and dreams and joys. They're beautiful and mocking.
I wish we could see perfumes as well as smell them. I'm sure they would be very beautiful.
I think you can always tell when a house has been loved. But it’s been asleep for so long. And lonely. It always hurts me to see a house lonely.
I think it would be charitable to believe that he was mistaken about
I see you have a cat. Wrong. Father Cassidy shook his head and groaned dismally. A cat has me.
I know I haven't much sense or sobriety, but I've got what is ever so much better — the knack of making people like me.
I have a dream, he said slowly. I persist in dreaming it, although it has often seemed to me that it could never come true. I dream of a home with a hearth-fire in it, a cat and dog, the footsteps of...
I find it is not always easy to be sure whether your deeds are good or bad.
I doubted God last Sunday said Rilla but I don't doubt Him today. Evil cannot win. Spirit is on our side and it is bound to outlast flesh.
I don't want her to be like other people. There are too many other people around as it is.
I can just imagine myself sitting down at the head of the table and pouring out the tea, said Anne, shutting her eyes ecstatically. And asking Diana if she takes sugar! I know she doesn't but of cours...
I am sure we should not shut our hearts against the healing influences that nature offers us.
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. Well,
How dreadful it would be not to love a cat! How much one would miss out of life.
How difficult it is to realize that one we have always known can really be dead, said Anne,
How beautiful the old Glen was, in its August ripeness, with its chain of bowery old homesteads, tilled meadows and quiet gardens. The western sky was like a great golden pearl. Far down the harbour w...
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.
He pipes—he pipes—and we must follow—Jem and Carl and Jerry and I—round and round the world. Listen— listen—can't you hear his wild music? The girls shivered.