I Wonder Why People So Commonly Suppose

Nothing Mattered Much To Me For A Time There, After You Told Me You Could Never Love Me, Anne. There Was Nobody Else -- There Never Could Be Anybody Else For Me But You. I've Loved You Ever Since That Day You Broke Your Slate Over My Head In School.

But I Believe I Rather Like Superstitious People. They Lend Color To Life. Wouldn't It Be A Rather Drab World If Everybody Was Wise And Sensible . . . And Good? What Would We Find To Talk About?

An Old House With Its Windows Gone Always Makes Me Think Of Something Dead With Its Eyes Picked Out.

Mrs. Spencer Said It Was Wicked Of Me To Talk Like That, But I Didn’t Mean To Be Wicked. It’s So Easy To Be Wicked Without Knowing It, Isn’t It?

Don't Be Led Away By Those Howls About Realism. Remember-pine Woods Are Just As Real As Pigsties And A Darn Sight Pleasanter To Be In.