Quotes from L.M. Montgomery

Steal not this book for fear of shame For on it is the owners name And when you die the Lord will say Where is the book you stole away And when you say you do not know The Lord will say go down below.

I'm sure I shall always feel like a child in the wood.

Good night, belovedest. Your sleep will be sweet if there is any influences in the wishes of your own.

But Anne with her elbows on the window sill, her soft cheek laid against her clasped hands, and her eyes filled with visions, looked out unheedingly across city roof and spire to that glorious dome of sunset sky and wove her dreams of a possible future from the golden tissue of youth's own optimism. All the Beyond was hers, with its possibilities lurking rosily in the oncoming years — each year a rose of promise to be woven into an immortal chaplet.

People told her she hadn't changed much, in a tone which hinted they were surprised and a little disappointed she hadn't.

Don't look at me so sorrowfully and so disapprovingly, dearest. I can't be sober and serious - everything looks so rosy and rainbowy to me.

A house isn't a home without the ineffable contentment of a cat with its tail folded about its feet. A cat gives mystery, charm, suggestion.

There are a great many people who do not understand things so there is no use in telling them.

There be three gentle and goodlie things, To be here, To be together, And to think well of one another.

If any person wants to see clearly just how much she has changed - whether for better or worse - let her revisit after some lapse of time any place where she has ones lived. She will meet her former self at every turn, with every familiar face, in every old recollection ... She will see how much she has gained in some respects, how much she has lost - irretrievably lost - in others.

If we don't chase things, sometimes the things following us can catch up. -L.M. Montgomery

Gilbert put his arm about them. 'Oh, you mothers!' he said. 'You mothers! God knew what He was about when He made you.

I'd write of people and places like I knew, and I'd make my characters talk everyday English; and I'd let the sun rise and set in the usual quiet way without much fuss over the fact. If I had to have villains at all, I'd give them a chance, Anne--I'd give them a chance. There are some terrible bad men the world, I suppose, but you'd have to go a long piece to find them...But most of us have got a little decency somewhere in us. Keep on writing, Anne.

It's not what the world holds for you, it's what you bring to it.

They captured in their ramble all the mysteries and magics of a March evening. Very still and mild it was, wrapped in a great, white, brooding silence -- a silence which was yet threaded through with many little silvery sounds which you could hear if you hearkened as much with your soul as your ears. The girls wandered down a long pineland aisle that seemed to lead right out into the heart of a deep-red, overflowing winter sunset.

When he said good evening you felt that it was a good evening and that it was partly his doing that it was.

I will keep faith, Walter, she said steadily. I will work ­and teach ­and learn ­and laugh, yes, I will even laugh ­through all my years, because of you and because of what you gave when you followed the call.

Nothing mattered much to me for a time there, after you told me you could never love me, Anne. There was nobody else -- there never could be anybody else for me but you. I've loved you ever since that day you broke your slate over my head in school.

War was a hellish, horrible hideous thing - too horrible and hideous to happen in the twentieth century between civilised nations.

One can always find something lovely to look at or listen to,' said Anne.

She had always envied the wind. So free. Blowing where it listed. Through the hills. Over the lakes. What a tang, what a zip it had! What a magic of adventure!

Isn't it terrible the way some unworthy folks are loved, while others that deserve it far more, you'd think, never get much affection?

Moonlight and the murmur of pines blended together so that one could hardly tell which was light and which was sound.

Perhaps, after all, romance did not come into one's life with pomp and blare, like a gay knight riding down; perhaps it crept to one's side like an old friend through quiet ways; perhaps. . . perhaps. . .love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship, as a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath.