War was a hellish, horrible hideous thing - too horrible and hideous to happen in the twentieth century between civilised nations.

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.

Oh, of course there's a risk in marrying anybody, but, when it's all said and done, there's many a worse thing than a husband.

You can't have many exclamation points left,' thought Anne, 'but no doubt the supply of italics is inexhaustible.

We don't know where we're going, but isn't is fun to go?

Mrs. Lynde says, 'Blessed are they who expect nothing for they shall not be disappointed.

Don't you ever imagine things differently than what they are? Oh, Marilla, how much you miss.