never write a line you'd be ashamed to read at your own funeral.
But the worst of imagining things is that the time comes when you have to stop and that hurts.
No one can be free who has a thousand ancestors.
Nasturtiums, who colored you, you wonderful, glowing things? You must have been fashioned out of summer sunsets.
Tears don't hurt like the ache does.
You'd find it easier to be bad than good if you had red hair," said Anne reproachfully. "People who haven't red hair don't know what trouble is.