Words aren't made — they grow,' said Anne.

Anne came dancing home in the purple winter twilight across the snowy places.

Nasturtiums, who colored you, you wonderful, glowing things? You must have been fashioned out of summer sunsets.

You noticed that I wore this outfit twice? Why, the only thing you wear twice is a sour expression.

That's the worst of growing up, and I'm beginning to realize it. The things you wanted so much when you were a child don't seem half so wonderful to you when you get them.

Red hair is my life long sorrow.

I love pretty things; and I hate to look in the glass and see something that isn't pretty. It makes me feel so sorrowful—just as I feel when I look at any ugly thing. I pity it because it isn't beautiful.