The woods are never solitary — they are full of whispering, beckoning, friendly life. But the sea is a mighty soul, forever moaning of some great, unshareable sorrow, which shuts it up into itself for all eternity. We can never pierce its infinite mystery — we may only wander, awed and spellbound, on the outer fringe of it. The woods call to us with a hundred voices, but the sea has one only — a mighty voice.

She looks just as music sounds, I think,' answered Anne.

Nasturtiums, who colored you, you wonderful, glowing things? You must have been fashioned out of summer sunsets.

People who haven’t red hair don’t know what trouble is.

It was rapture enough just to sit there beside him in silence, alone in the summer night in the white splendor of moonshine, with the wind blowing down on them out of the pine woods.

If a kiss could be seen I think it would look like a violet.

Poor soul, she always knew everything about her neighbors, but she never was very well acquainted with herself.