That's the worst…or the best…of real life, Anne. It won't let you be miserable. It keeps on trying to make you comfortable…and succeeding…even when you're determined to be unhappy and romantic.

brains last, beauty doesn't.

March came in that winter like the meekest and mildest of lambs, bringing days that were crisp and golden and tingling, each followed by a frosty pink twilight which gradually lost itself in an elfland of moonshine.

But [sorrows] won't get the better of you if you face 'em together with love and trust. You can weather any storm with them two for compass and pilot.

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

Rilla's heart skipped a beat — or, if that be a physiological impossibility, she thought it did.

let's not borrow trouble. The rate of interest is too high.