[Anne, commenting on city life] "I think I would probably come to the conclusion that I'd like it for a while... but in the end, I'd still prefer the sound of the wind in the firs across the brook more than the tinkling of crystal.

It's the worst kind of cruelty — the thoughtless kind. You can't cope with it.

It's dreadful what little things lead people to misunderstand each other.

I think it would be worse to expect nothing than to be disappointed.

Don't believe in imagining things different from what they really are. When the Lord puts us in certain circumstances He doesn't mean for us to imagine them away.

But I'd rather look like you than be pretty," she told Anne sincerely. Anne laughed, sipped honey from the tribute, and cast away the sting.

Anyhow, there'll be plenty of jam in heaven, that's one comfort, he said complacently. Perhaps there will...if we want it, she said, But what makes you think so? Why, it's in the catechism, said Davy. Oh, no, there is nothing like that in the catechism, Davy. But I tell you there is, persisted Davy. It was in that question Marilla taught me last Sunday. Why should we love God? It says, Because he makes preserves, and redeems us. Preserves is just a holy way of saying jam.