It was November--the month of crimson sunsets, parting birds, deep, sad hymns of the sea, passionate wind-songs in the pines. Anne roamed through the pineland alleys in the park and, as she said, let that great sweeping wind blow the fogs out of her soul.

L.M. Montgomery

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Long after Pacifiique's gay whistle had faded into the phantom of music and then into silence far up under the maples of Lover's Lane Anne stood under the willows, tasting the poignant sweetness of life when some great dread has been removed from it. The morning was a cup filled with mist and glamor. In the corner near her was a rich surprise of new-blown, crystal-dewed roses. The trills and trickles of song from the birds in the big tree above her seemed in perfect accord with her mood. A sentence from a very old, very true, very wonderful Book came to her lips, "Weeping may endure for a night but joy cometh in the morning.

L.M. Montgomery

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There is so much in the world for us all if we only have the eyes to see it, and the heart to love it, and the hand to gather it to ourselves--so much in men and women, so much in art and literature, so much everywhere in which to delight, and for which to be thankful.

L.M. Montgomery

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I wouldn't want to marry anybody who was wicked, but I think I'd like it if he could be wicked and wouldn't.

L.M. Montgomery

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She told herself that she longed greatly to go back to those dear merry days when life was seen through a rosy mist of hope and illusion, and possessed an indefinable something that had passed away forever. Where was it now--the glory and the dream?

L.M. Montgomery

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You don't know love when you see it. You've tricked something out with your imagination that you think love, and you expect the real thing to look like that.

L.M. Montgomery

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No sabes reconocer el amor. Has imaginado el amor como una sensación determinada y quieres que en la vida real sea así.

L.M. Montgomery

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