Oh", she thought, "how horrible it is that people have to grow up-and marry-and change!

Everything that's worth having is some trouble.

Perhaps. . .love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship, as a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath.

Anne reveled in the world of color about her. "Oh, Marilla," she exclaimed one Saturday morning, coming dancing in with her arms full of gorgeous boughs, "I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers. It would be terrible if we just skipped from September to November, wouldn't it? Look at these maple branches. Don't they give you a thrill--several thrills?

I was very much provoked. Of course, I knew there are no fairies; but that needn't prevent my thinking there is.

But I believe I rather like superstitious people. They lend color to life. Wouldn't it be a rather drab world if everybody was wise and sensible . . . and good? What would we find to talk about?

War was a hellish, horrible hideous thing - too horrible and hideous to happen in the twentieth century between civilised nations.