Gossip, As Usual, Was One-third Right And

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.

When One Great Passion Seizes Possession Of The Soul All Other Feelings Are Crowded Out.

I Doubt If I Shall Ever Have Time To Read The Book Again -- There Are Too Many New Ones Coming Out All The Time Which I Want To Read. Yet An Old Book Has Something For Me Which No New Book Can Ever Have -- For At Every Reading The Memories And Atmosphere Of Other Readings Come Back And I Am Reading Old Years As Well As An Old Book.

I Read In A Book Once That A Rose By Any Other Name Would Smell As Sweet, But I've Never Been Able To Believe It. I Don't Believe A Rose Would Be As Nice If It Was Called A Thistle Or A Skunk Cabbage.

Fear Is The Original Sin. Almost All Of The Evil In The World Has Its Origin In The Fact That Some One Is Afraid Of Something.it Is A Cold Slimy Serpent Coiling About You. It Is Horrible To Live With Fear; And It Is Of All Things Degrading.