If You Can't Be Cheerful,

[o]ne Can Dream So Much Better In A Room Where There Are Pretty Things.

The Beauty Of Winter Is That It Makes You Appreciate Spring.

You Mayn't Get The Things Themselves; But Nothing Can Prevent You From Having The Fun Of Looking Forward To Them.

That Doesn't Sound Very Attractive," Laughed Anne. "i Like People To Have A Little Nonsense About Them.

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 It Revealed Itself In Seeming Prose, Until Some Sudden Shaft Of Illumination Flung Athwart Its Pages Betrayed The Rhythm And The Music, Perhaps . . . Perhaps . . . Love Unfolded Naturally Out Of A Beautiful Friendship, As A Golden-hearted Rose Slipping From Its Green Sheath.