All Pioneers Are Considered To Be Afflicted

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.

No One Can Be Free Who Has A Thousand Ancestors.

I'd Like To Add Some Beauty To Life," Said Anne Dreamily. "i Don't Exactly Want To Make People Know More... Though I Know That Is The Noblest Ambition... But I'd Love To Make Them Have A Pleasanter Time Because Of Me... To Have Some Little Joy Or Happy Thought That Would Never Have Existed If I Hadn't Been Born.

Everything Is New In The Spring. Springs Themselves Are Always So New, Too. No Spring Is Ever Just Like Any Other Spring. It Always Has Something Of Its Own To Be Its Own Peculiar Sweetness.

That Is One Consolation When You Are Poor—there Are So Many More Things You Can Imagine About.