Perhaps, after all, romance did not come into one’s life with pomp and blare, like a gay knight riding down; perhaps it crept to one’s side like an old friend through quiet ways; perhaps it revealed itself in seeming prose, until some sudden shaft of illumination flung athwart its pages betrayed the rhythm and the music, perhaps . . . perhaps . . . love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship, as a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath.
Lucy Maud Montgomeryit would be lovely to sleep in a wild cherry-tree all white with bloom in the moonshine
Lucy Maud MontgomeryThat's one splendid thing about such affairs — it's so lovely to look back to them.
Lucy Maud Montgomery