Quotes from L.M. Montgomery

Nobody can keep on being angry if she looks into the heart of a pansy for a little while.

It must be lovely to be grown up, Marilla, when just being treated as if you were is so nice...Well, anyway, when I grow up, I'm always going to talk to little girls as if they were, too, and I'll never laugh when they use big words.

Since you are determined to be married, Miss Cornelia, said Gilbert solemnly, I shall give you the excellent rules for the management of a husband which my grandmother gave my mother when she married my father. Well, I reckon I can manage Marshall Elliott, said Miss Cornelia placidly. But let us hear your rules. The first one is, catch him. He's caught. Go on. The second one is, feed him well. With enough pie. What next? The third and fourth are-- keep your eye on him.

She brushed the old years and habits and inhibitions away from her like dead leaves. She would not be littered with them.

Let's sum up... a little house, white and green or to be made so... with trees, preferably birch and spruce... a window looking seaward... on a hill. That sounds very possible... but there is one other requirement. There must be magic about it, Jane... lashings of magic... and magic houses are scarce, even on the Island. Have you any idea at all what I mean, Jane? Jane reflected. You want to feel that the house is yours before you buy it, she said. Jane, said dad, you are too good to be true.

When weeds go to heaven, I suppose they will be flowers.

I'm so glad you're here, Anne,' said Miss Lavendar, nibbling at her candy. 'If you weren't I should be blue…very blue…almost navy blue. Dreams and make-believes are all very well in the daytime and the sunshine, but when dark and storm come they fail to satisfy. One wants real things then. But you don't know this…seventeen never knows it. At seventeen dreams do satisfy because you think the realities are waiting for you further on.

I know you're a fool, Jim Hardy, but for heaven's sake pretend you're not for five minutes.

It was November—the month of crimson sunsets, parting birds, deep, sad hymns of the sea, passionate wind-songs in the pines.

We _are_ rich,' said Anne staunchly. 'Why, we have sixteen years to our credit, and we are as happy as queens and we've all got imaginations, more or less. Look at that sea, girls - all silver and shallow and vision of things not seen. We couldn't enjoy its loveliness any more if we had millions of dollars and ropes of diamonds.

We are both going to pray that we may live together all our lives and die the same day.

We mustn't let next week rob us of this week's joy.

She came out of her reverie with a deep sigh and looked at him with a dreamy gaze of a soul that had been wandering afar, star-led.

Imagination is what you need.

One does not sleep well, sometimes, when one is twenty-nine on the morrow, and unmarried, in a community and connection where the unmarried are simply those who have failed to get a man.

Since ever the world was spinning And till the world shall end You've your man in the beginning Or you have him in the end, But to have him from start to finish And neither nor borrow nor lend Is what all of the girls are wanting And none of the gods can send

I don't like places or people either that haven't any faults. I think that a truly perfect person would be very uninteresting.

Reading stories is bad enough but writing them is worse.

It takes all sorts of people to make a world, as I've often heard, but I think there are some who could be spared,' Anne told her reflection in the east gable mirror that night.

Home and I are such good friends.

Anybody is liable to rheumatism in her legs, Anne. It's only old people who should have rheumatism in their souls, though. Thanks goodness, I never have. When you get rheumatism in your soul you might as well go and pick out your coffin.

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

We've had a beautiful friendship, Diana. We've never marred it by one quarrel or coolness or unkind word; and I hope it will always be so. But things can't be quite the same after this. You'll have other interests. I'll just be on the outside.

I have been reading three books Dean lent me this week. One was like a rose garden--very pleasant, but just a little too sweet. And one was like a pine wood on a mountain--full of balsam and tang--I loved it, and yet it filled me with a sort of despair. It was written so beautifully--I can never write like that, I feel sure. And one--it was just like a pig-sty. Dean gave me that one by mistake.