She looked like a head-on collision between a fashion plate and a nightmare.
Why is it that the nicest things never are healthy?
You were never poor as long as you had something to love.
Don't you ever imagine things differently than what they are? Oh, Marilla, how much you miss.
I wonder if it will be—can be—any more beautiful than this,’ murmured Anne, looking around her with the loving, enraptured eyes of those to whom ‘home’ must always be the loveliest spot in the world, no matter what fairer lands may lie under alien stars.
Doesn't matter what a person's name is as long as he behaves himself.