I Am Simply A Book Drunkard.

How Wicked I Was To Wish That Something Dramatic Would Happen!' She Thought. 'oh, If We Could Only Have Those Dear, Monotonous, Pleasant Days Back Again! I Would *never* Grumble About Them Again.

It's So Hard To Get Up Again—although Of Course The Harder It Is The More Satisfaction You Have When You Do Get Up, Haven't You?

Anyhow, There'll Be Plenty Of Jam In Heaven, That's One Comfort, He Said Complacently. Perhaps There Will...if We Want It, She Said, But What Makes You Think So? Why, It's In The Catechism, Said Davy. Oh, No, There Is Nothing Like That In The Catechism, Davy. But I Tell You There Is, Persisted Davy. It Was In That Question Marilla Taught Me Last Sunday. Why Should We Love God? It Says, Because He Makes Preserves, And Redeems Us. Preserves Is Just A Holy Way Of Saying Jam.

I've Always Loved The Night And I'll Like Lying Awake And Thinking Over Everything In Life, Past, Present And To Come. Especially To Come.

“you 're Not Eating Anything,” Said Marilla Sharply, Eying Her As If It Were A Serious Shortcoming. Anne Sighed. “i Can 't. I'm In The Depths Of Despair. Can You Eat When You Are In The Depths Of Despair?”