Quotes from L.M. Montgomery

After all, it was nice to be loved than to be rich and admired and famous.

Wouldn't it be a rather drab world if everybody was wise and sensible…and good? What would we find to talk about?

We miss so much out of life if we do not love. The more we love the richer life is.

But the trouble is there aren't any bends in my road. I can see it stretching straight out before me to the sky-line…endless monotony. Oh, does life ever frighten you, Anne, with its blankness…its swarms of cold, uninteresting people?

Thanksgiving should be celebrated in the spring...I think it would be ever so much better than having it in November when everything is dead or asleep. Then you have to remember to be thankful; but in May one simply can't help being thankful...that they are alive, if for nothing else.

Well, anyway, when I am grown up," said Anne decidedly, "I'm always going to talk to little girls as if they were too, and I'll never laugh when they use big words. I know from sorrowful experience how that hurts one's feelings.

If I had my way I'd shut everything out of your life but happiness and pleasure, Anne," said Gilbert

Why should one hate you when you were so small? Could you be worth hating?

I do like a road, because you can be always wondering what is at the end of it.

She had...the glimmerings of a sense of humour - which is simply another name for a sense of the fitness of things.

Anne smiled and sighed. The seasons that seemed so long to Baby Rilla were beginning to pass all too quickly for her. Another summer was ended, lighted out of life by the ageless gold of Lombardy torches. Soon...all too soon...the children of Ingleside would be children no longer. But they were still hers...hers to welcome when they came home at night...hers to fill life with wonder and delight...hers to love and cheer and scold...a little.

An hour ago on the sand-shore he has been looking at her as if she were the only being of any importance in the world. And now she was a nobody.

to hike along a deep-rutted, pebbly lane in frail, silver-hued slippers with high French heels, is not an exhilirating experience.

It was less humiliating to admit crying because of your feet than because - because somebody had been amusing himself with you and your friends had forgotten you, and other people patronised you.

She said she'd have spoken years ago, only she thought I wouldn't. And I never spoke to her because I was sure she wouldn't speak to me. Isn't it strange how people misunderstand each other?

Plum puffs can't minister to a mind diseased or a world that's crumbling to pieces

The trouble with you, Anne, is that you're thinking too much about yourself. You should just think of Mrs. Allan and what would be nicest and most agreeable to her, said Marilla, hitting for once in her life on a very sound and pithy piece of advice. Anne instantly realized this.

Am i talking too much? People are always telling me I do. Would you rather I didn't talk? If you say so I'll stop. I can stop when I make up my mind to it, although it's difficult.

as she held out her hand, their eyes met and all doubt was swept away in a glad certainty. They belonged to each other; and, no matter what life might hold for them, it could never alter that. Their happiness was in each other's keeping and both were unafraid.

The knowledge of that land's geography…'east o' the sun, west o' the moon'…is priceless lore, not to be bought in any market place. It must be the gift of the good fairies at birth and the years can never deface it or take it away. It is better to possess it, living in a garret, than to be the inhabitant of palaces without it.

You make me believe in fairies, whether I will or no, he told her, and that means youth. As long as you believe in fairies you can't grow old.

A woman who has a sense of humor possesses no refuge from the merciless truth about herself. She cannot think herself misunderstood. She cannot revel in self-pity. She cannot comfortably damn any one who differs from her.

A proper Irishman always does what a lady asks him. Sure an' it's been the ruin av us. We're at the mercy av the petticoats.

Heaven must be very beautiful, of course, the Bible says so — but, Anne, it won't be what I've been used to.