Anyhow, there'll be plenty of jam in heaven, that's one comfort, he said complacently. Perhaps there will...if we want it, she said, But what makes you think so? Why, it's in the catechism, said Davy. Oh, no, there is nothing like that in the catechism, Davy. But I tell you there is, persisted Davy. It was in that question Marilla taught me last Sunday. Why should we love God? It says, Because he makes preserves, and redeems us. Preserves is just a holy way of saying jam.

The point of good writing is knowing when to stop.

And if you couldn't be loved, the next best thing was to be let alone.

We are never half so interesting when we have learned that language is given us to enable us to conceal our thoughts.

Never be silent with persons you love and distrust," Mr. Carpenter had said once. "Silence betrays.

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.

I'm afraid of those cows,' protested poor Dora, seeing a prospect of escape. 'The very idea of your being scared of those cows,' scoffed Davy. 'Why, they're both younger than you.