My Pen Shall Heal, Not Hurt.

Valancy Herself Had Never Quite Relinquished A Certain Pitiful, Shamed, Little Hope That Romance Would Come Her Way Yet - Never, Until This Wet, Horrible Morning, When She Wakened To The Fact That She Was Twenty-nine And Unsought By Any Man. Ay, There Lay The Sting. Valancy Did Not Mind So Much Being An Old Maid. After All, She Thought, Being An Old Maid Couldn’t Possibly Be As Dreadful As Being Married To An Uncle Wellignton Or An Uncle Benjamin, Or Even An Uncle Herbert. What Hurt Her Was That She Had Never Had A Chance To Be Anything But An Old Maid.

Don't Be Very Frightened, Marilla. I Was Walking The Ridge-pole And I Fell Off. I Suspect I Have Sprained My Ankle. But, Marilla, I Might Have Broken My Neck. Let Us Look On The Bright Side Of Things.

Have You Ever Noticed How Many Silences There Are Gilbert? The Silence Of The Woods....of The Shore....of The Meadows....of The Night....of The Summer Afternoon. All Different Because The Undertones That Thread Them Are Different.

There's Such A Lot Of Different Annes In Me. I Sometimes Think That Is Why I'm Such A Troublesome Person. If I Was Just The One Anne It Would Be Ever So Much More Comfortable, But Then It Wouldn't Be Half So Interesting.

My Pen Shall Heal, Not Hurt.