Death grows friendlier as we grow older.

It's not what the world holds for you. It's what you bring to it.

When I read that the flash came, and I took a sheet of paper. . .and I wrote on it: I, Emily Byrd Starr, do solemnly vow this day that I will climb the Alpine Path and write my name on the scroll of fame.

But Anne with her elbows on the window sill, her soft cheek laid against her clasped hands, and her eyes filled with visions, looked out unheedingly across city roof and spire to that glorious dome of sunset sky and wove her dreams of a possible future from the golden tissue of youth's own optimism. All the Beyond was hers, with its possibilities lurking rosily in the oncoming years — each year a rose of promise to be woven into an immortal chaplet.

At seventeen dreams DO satisfy because you think the realities are waiting for you farther on.

Rebellion flamed up in her soul as the dark hours passed by – not because she had no future but because she had no past.

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.