Have you ever noticed how many silences there are Gilbert? The silence of the woods....of the shore....of the meadows....of the night....of the summer afternoon. All different because the undertones that thread them are different.

And if you couldn't be loved, the next best thing was to be let alone.

There is no use in loving things if you have to be torn from them, is there? And it's so hard to keep from loving things, isn't it?

Oh Marilla, looking forward to things is half the pleasure of them," exclaimed Anne.

Valancy herself had never quite relinquished a certain pitiful, shamed, little hope that Romance would come her way yet - never, until this wet, horrible morning, when she wakened to the fact that she was twenty-nine and unsought by any man. Ay, there lay the sting. Valancy did not mind so much being an old maid. After all, she thought, being an old maid couldn’t possibly be as dreadful as being married to an Uncle Wellignton or an Uncle Benjamin, or even an Uncle Herbert. What hurt her was that she had never had a chance to be anything but an old maid.

Because when you are imagining, you might as well imagine something worth while.

If you can't be cheerful, be as cheerful as you can.