Quotes from L.M. Montgomery

The dead will only be dead if you stop remembering them.

If you buy your experience it's your own. So it's no matter how much you pay for it.

How terrible it must be not to see and feel beauty.... I'm so glad I can find happiness in all lovely little things... It seems to me that every time I look out of a window the world gives me a gift.

Our library isn't very extensive, but every book in it is a friend.

The Piper is coming nearer, he said, he is nearer than he was that evening I saw him before. His long, shadowy cloak is blowing around him. He pipes - he pipes - and we must follow - Jem and Carl and Jerry and I - round and round the world. Listen - listen - can't you hear his wild music?

ANNE: You said you'd keep me in my room until I confessed. I just thought up a good confession and made it as interesting as I could. MARILLA: But it was still a lie. ANNE: You wouldn't believe the truth.

Well, I don't know, said the Story Girl thoughtfully. I think there are two kinds of true thing - true things that are , and true things that are not , but might be.

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

What I want to get out of my college course is some knowledge of the best way of living life and doing the most and best with it. I want to learn to understand and help other people and myself.

Anyone who has sympathy and understanding to give has a treasure that is without money and without price.

I'm afraid of those cows,' protested poor Dora, seeing a prospect of escape. 'The very idea of your being scared of those cows,' scoffed Davy. 'Why, they're both younger than you.

When will the others come? And there is one who will never come. At least we will not see him if he does. But, oh, when I think he will be there--when our Canadian soldiers return there will be a shadow army with them--the army of the fallen. We will not *see* them--but they will be there!

Lovely thoughts came flying to meet me like birds. They weren't my thoughts. I couldn't think anything half so exquisite. They came from somewhere.

Surely the flowers of a hundred spring are simply the souls of beautiful things!

We always hate people who surprise our secrets…

But the summer had been a very happy one, too -- a time of glad living with summer suns and skies, a time of keen delight in wholesome things; a time of renewing and deepening of old friendships; a time in which she had learned to live more nobly, to work more patiently, to play more heartily.

I'm glad and I'm sorry. I'm always sorry when pleasant things end. Something still more pleasant may come after, but you can never be sure. And it's so often the case that it isn't more pleasant.

always felt the pain of her friends so keenly that she could not speak easy, fluent words of comforting. Besides, she remembered how well-meant speeches had hurt her in her own sorrow and was afraid.

None of us ever do, said Mrs. Allan with a sigh. But then, Anne, you know what Lowell says, 'Not failure but low aim is crime.' We must have ideals and try to live up to them, even if we never quite succeed. Life would be a sorry business without them. With them it's grand and great. Hold fast to your ideals, Anne.

I won't say another word -- not one. I know I talk too much, but I am really trying to overcome it, and although I say far too much, yet if you only knew how much I want to say and don't, you'd give me some credit for it.

For there is no bond more lasting than that formed by the mutual confidences of that magic time when youth is slipping from the sheath of childhood and beginning to wonder what lies for it beyond those misty hills that bound the golden road.

It doesn't seem FAIR, said Anne rebelliously. Babies are born and live where they are not wanted-where they will be neglected-where they have no chance. I would have loved my baby so-and cared for it tenderly-and tried to give her every chance for good. And yet I wasn't allowed to keep her.

Behind them in the garden the little stone house brooded among the shadows. It was lonely but not forsaken. It had not yet done with dreams and laughter and the joy of life; there were to be future summers for the little stone house; meanwhile, it could wait. And over the river in purple durance the echoes bided their time.

Oh, WHY can't boys be just sensible!