Anne came dancing home in the purple winter twilight across the snowy places.

But there is always a November space after the leaves have fallen when she felt it was almost indecent to intrude on the woods…for their glory terrestrial had departed and their glory celestial of spirit and purity and whiteness had not yet come upon them.

All things great are wound up with all things little.

Maples are such sociable trees ... They're always rustling and whispering to you.

The point of good writing is knowing when to stop.

Yes, it's beautiful,' said Gilbert, looking steadily down into Anne's uplifted face, 'but wouldn't it have been more beautiful still, Anne, if there had been no separation or misunderstanding . . . if they had come hand in hand all the way through life, with no memories behind them but those which belonged to each other?

There isn't any such thing as an ordinary life. (92)