A Cold In The Head In June

I Love Pretty Things; And I Hate To Look In The Glass And See Something That Isn't Pretty. It Makes Me Feel So Sorrowful—just As I Feel When I Look At Any Ugly Thing. I Pity It Because It Isn't Beautiful.

At Seventeen Dreams Do Satisfy Because You Think The Realities Are Waiting For You Farther On.

She Had...the Glimmerings Of A Sense Of Humour - Which Is Simply Another Name For A Sense Of The Fitness Of Things.

Few Things In Avonlea Ever Escaped Mrs. Lynde. It Was Only That Morning Anne Had Said, "if You Went To Your Own Room At Midnight, Locked The Door, Pulled Down The Blind, And Sneezed, Mrs. Lynde Would Ask You The Next Day How Your Cold Was!

One June Evening, When The Orchards Were Pink-blossomed Again, When The Frogs Were Singing Silverly Sweet In The Marshes About The Head Of The Lake Of Shining Waters, And The Air Was Full Of The Savor Of Clover Fields And Balsamic Fir Woods, Anne Was Sitting By Her Gable Window. She Had Been Studying Her Lessons, But It Had Grown Too Dark To See The Book, So She Had Fallen Into Wide-eyed Reverie, Looking Out Past The Boughs Of The Snow Queen, Once More Bestarred With Its Tufts Of Blossom.