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.

Tears don't hurt like the ache does.

Who would endure life if it were not for the hope of death?

I know I chatter on far too much... but if you only knew how many things I want to say and don't. Give me SOME credit.

Oh Marilla, looking forward to things is half the pleasure of them," exclaimed Anne.

What had seemed easy in imagination was rather hard in reality.

I don't like green Christmases. They're not green—they're just nasty faded browns and grays.