…hate’s got to be a disease with me.
I’m just tired of everything…even of the echoes. There is nothing in my life but echoes…echoes of lost hopes and dreams and joys. They’re beautiful and mocking.
I do know my own mind,’ protested Anne. ‘The trouble is, my mind changes and then I have to get acquainted with it all over again.
I guess you’ve got a spice of temper,” commented Mr. Harrison, surveying the flushed cheeks and indignant eyes opposite him. “It goes with hair like yours, I reckon
Why should one hate you when you were so small? Could you be worth hating?
It makes me very sad at times to think about her. But really, Marilla, one can’t stay sad very long in such an interesting world, can one?
It’s rather hard to decide just when people are grown up,’ laughed Anne.
‘That’s a true word, dearie. Some are grown up when they’re born, and others ain’t grown up when they’re eighty, believe me. That same Mrs. Roderick I was speaking of never grew up. She was as foolish when she was hundred as when she was ten.’
‘Perhaps that was why she lived so long,’ suggested Anne.
Heaven must be very beautiful, of course, the Bible says so – but, Anne, it won’t be what I’ve been used to.
I think it is because I have a habit, when I am bored or disgusted with people of stepping suddenly into my own world and shutting the door. People resent this — I suppose it is only natural to resent a door being shut in your face. They call it slyness when it is only self-defense.
That is one good thing about this world…there are always sure to be more springs.