Another story was that a certain dissipated youth of the community, going home one Saturday night, or rather Sunday morning, from some unhallowed orgy, was pursued by a lamb of fire, with its head cut...
Anne
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.
Anne was kneeling at the west gable window watching the sunset sky that was like a great flower with petals of crocus and a heart of fiery yellow.
Anne was a sweet-souled lass, but she could instill some venom into innocent italics when occasion required. What
Anne of Windy Poplars
Anne of Green Gables Series!
Anne looked up. Tall and handsome and distinguished-looking—dark, melancholy, inscrutable eyes—melting, musical, sympathetic voice—yes, the very hero of her dreams stood before her in the flesh. He co...
Anne had wandered down the the Dryard's Bubble and was curled up among the ferns at the root of the n=big white birch where sher and Gilbert had so often sat ion summers gone by. Hew had gone into the...
Anne had no sooner uttered the phrase, home o'dreams, than it captivated her fancy and she immediately began the erection of one of her own. It was, of course, tenanted by an ideal master, dark, proud...
Anne had brought her slate down on Gilbert's head and cracked it—slate not head—clear across.
Anne Shirley, how often have I told you never to let one of those Italians in the house! I don't believe in encouraging them to come around at all.
And, like all female creatures, you form your opinions by your feelings. Well, hope for your thrilling career--but remember that if there is to be drama in your life somebody must pay the piper in the...
And yet … it's the little things that fret the holes in life … like moths … and ruin it.
And when it tips on a cloud some of them spill out and fall into your sleep.
And on Inkerman yet the wild bramble is gory, And those bleak heights henceforth shall be famous in story,' quoted
And it seemed to me, too, that I've always been afraid when I was in the company of people…afraid of saying something stupid…afraid of being laughed at.
Am i talking too much? People are always telling me I do. Would you rather I didn't talk? If you say so I'll stop. I can stop when I make up my mind to it, although it's difficult.
All the Beyond was hers with its possibilities lurking rosily in the oncoming years—each year a rose of promise to be woven into an immortal chaplet.
Ain't it strange how innocent little creatures like children like the blood-thirstiest stories?