Nobody is ever too old to dream. And dreams never grow old.
L.M. MontgomeryMots clés anne-of-windy-poplars
Life is only beginning for you now . . . since at last you're quite free and independent. And you never know what may be around the next bend in the road
L.M. MontgomeryMots clés anne-of-windy-poplars
Babies are such fascinating creatures," said Anne dreamily. "They are what I heard somebody at Redmond call 'terrific bundles of potentialities.' Think of it, Katherine . . . Homer must have been a baby once . . . a baby with dimples and great eyes full of light . . . he couldn't have been blind then, of course.
L.M. MontgomeryMots clés anne-of-windy-poplars
Heaven grant me patience! Clothes are very important," said Anne severely
L.M. MontgomeryMots clés anne-of-windy-poplars
Gilbert, I'm afraid I'm scandalously in love with you.
L.M. MontgomeryMots clés love gilbert-blythe anne-shirley anne-of-windy-poplars
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. MontgomeryMots clés anne-of-the-island
Afficher la citation en allemand
Montrer la citation en français
Montrer la citation en italien
I'm glad I never had any children,' said Cousin Sarah. 'If they don't break your heart in one way they do it in another.'
'Isn't it better to have your heart broken than to have it wither up?' queried Valancy. 'Before it could be broken it must have felt something splendid. That would be worth the pain.
Mots clés broken-heart
She turned to Roy with her gayest expression. He smiled back at her with what Phil called "his deep, black, velvety smile." Yet, she really did not see Roy at all. She was acutely conscious that Gilbert was standing under the palms just across the room talking to a girl who must be Christine Stuart
L.M. MontgomeryMots clés silly-heart
Anne had wandered down the the Dryard's Bubble and was curled up among the ferns at the root of the n=big white birch where sher and Gilbert had so often sat ion summers gone by. Hew had gone into the newspaper office again when college was closed, and Avonlea seemed very dull without him. He never wrote to her, and Anne missed the letters that neer came. To be sure, Roy wrote twice a week; his letters were exquisite compositions which would have read beautifully in a memoir or biography. Anne felt herself more deeply in love with him that ever when she read the; but her heart never game that queer, quick, painful bound at sight of his letters which had given one day when Mrs. Hiram Sloane had handed her out an envelope addressed in Gilbert's black, upright handwriting. Anne had hurried home to the east gable and opened it eagrly--to find a typewritten copy of some college society report--"only that and nothing more." Anne flung the harmless screed across her room and sat down to write and especially nice epistle to Roy
L.M. MontgomeryIt's all very well to read about sorrows and imagine yourself living through them heroically, but it's not so nice when you really come to have them, is it?
L.M. Montgomery« ; premier précédent
Page 25 de 63.
suivant dernier » ;
Data privacy
Imprint
Contact
Diese Website verwendet Cookies, um Ihnen die bestmögliche Funktionalität bieten zu können.