It is a strange thing to read a letter after the writer is dead - a bitter-sweet thing, in which pain and comfort are strangely mingled.

You have the itch for writing born in you. It's quite incurable. What are you going to do with it?

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.

There be three gentle and goodlie things, To be here, To be together, And to think well of one another.

Fear is a confession of weakness. What you fear is stronger than you, or you think it is, else you wouldn't be afraid of it.

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

We are both going to pray that we may live together all our lives and die the same day.