It is a strange thing to read a letter after the writer is dead - a bitter-sweet thing, in which pain and comfort are strangely mingled. — Lucy Maud Montgomery Copy Share Image
“Tell me this--if you knew you would be poor as a church mouse all your life--if you knew you'd never have a line published--would… — Lucy Maud Montgomery Copy Share Image
It was October again ... a glorious October, all red and gold, with mellow mornings when the valleys were filled with delicate mists as… — Lucy Maud Montgomery Copy Share Image
Without shedding of blood there is no anything. Everything, it seems to me, has to be purchased by selfsacrifice. Our race has marked every… — Lucy Maud Montgomery Copy Share Image
Isn't it good just to be alive on a day like this? I pity the people who aren't born yet for missing it. — Lucy Maud Montgomery Copy Share Image
An old house with its windows gone always makes me think of something dead with its eyes picked out. — Lucy Maud Montgomery Copy Share Image
What is it really like to be engaged?" asked Anne curiously. "Well, that all depends on who you're engaged to," answered Diana, with that… — Lucy Maud Montgomery Copy Share Image
Hark, I hear a robin calling! List, the wind is from the south! And the orchard-bloom is falling Sweet as kisses on the mouth.… — Lucy Maud Montgomery Copy Share Image
As she walked along she dramatized the night. There was about it a wild, lawless charm that appealed to a certain wild, lawless strain… — Lucy Maud Montgomery Copy Share Image
“In this life you've got to hope for the best, prepare for the worst and take whatever God sends.” — Lucy Maud Montgomery Copy Share Image
“You 're not eating anything,” said Marilla sharply, eying her as if it were a serious shortcoming. Anne sighed. “I can 't. I'm in… — Lucy Maud Montgomery Copy Share Image
