Here Sat Marilla Cuthbert, When She Sat

Oh, Sometimes I Think It Is Of No Use To Make Friends. They Only Go Out Of Your Life After Awhile And Leave A Hurt That Is Worse Than The Emptiness Before They Came.

Perhaps, After All, Romance Did Not Come Into One's Life With Pomp And Blare... Perhaps It Crept To One's Side Like An Old Friend Through Quiet Ways.

Steal Not This Book For Fear Of Shame For On It Is The Owners Name And When You Die The Lord Will Say Where Is The Book You Stole Away And When You Say You Do Not Know The Lord Will Say Go Down Below.

Facts Are Stubborn Things, But, As Some One Has Wisely Said, Not Half So Stubborn As Fallacies.

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.