I wonder what a soul…a person's soul…would look like,' said Priscilla dreamily. 'Like that, I should think,' answered Anne, pointing to a radiance of sifted sunlight streaming through a birch tree. 'Only with shape and features of course. I like to fancy souls as being made of light. And some are all shot through with rosy stains and quivers…and some have a soft glitter like moonlight on the sea…and some are pale and transparent like mist at dawn.

It's good advice, but I expect it will be hard to follow; good advice is apt to be, I think.

I feel as if I had opened a book and found roses of yesterday sweet and fragrant, between its leaves.

Being frightened of things is worse than the things themselves.

Who would endure life if it were not for the hope of death?

Tears don't hurt like the ache does.

I am simply a 'book drunkard.' Books have the same irresistible temptation for me that liquor has for its devotee. I cannot withstand them.