Dear old world', she murmured, 'you are very lovely, and I am glad to be alive in you.

Oh, Marilla, I thought I was happy before. Now I know that I just dreamed a pleasant dream of happiness. This is the reality.

…there was something about her that made you feel it was safe to tell her secrets.

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.

The night was clear and frosty, all ebony of shadow and silver of snowy slope; big stars were shining over the silent fields; here and there the dark pointed firs stood up with snow powdering their branches and the wind whistling through them.

She looked like a head-on collision between a fashion plate and a nightmare.

There are a great many people who do not understand things so there is no use in telling them.