That's one splendid thing about such affairs — it's so lovely to look back to them.

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

She wanted to be alone - to think things out - to adjust herself, if it were possible, to the new world in which she seemed to have been transplanted with a suddenness and completeness that left her half bewildered to her own identity.

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.

She looks just as music sounds, I think,' answered Anne.

There are so many unpleasant things in the world already that there is no use in imagining any more.

It was rapture enough just to sit there beside him in silence, alone in the summer night in the white splendor of moonshine, with the wind blowing down on them out of the pine woods.