Quote

There might be some hours of loneliness. But there was something wonderful even in loneliness. At least you belonged to yourself when you were lonely.

Lucy Maud Montgomery

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Lucy Maud Montgomery
Age: 67 †
Born: 1874
Born: November 30
Died: 1942
Died: April 24
Author
Biographer
Diarist
Novelist
Poet
Short Story Writer
Writer
New London
Prince Edward Island
Lucy Maud Montgomery Macdonald
Even
Something
Belonged
Loneliness
Lonely
Least
Wonderful
Hours
Might

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The only thing I envy about a cat is its purr, remarked Dr. Blythe once, listening to Doc's resonant melody. It is the most contented sound in the world.
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Oh, Marilla, I thought I was happy before. Now I know that I just dreamed a pleasant dream of happiness. This is the reality.
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If it's IN you to climb you must -- there are those who MUST lift their eyes to the hills -- they can't breathe properly in the valleys.
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After all, Anne had said to Marilla once, I believe the nicest and sweetest days are not those on which anything very splendid or wonderful or exciting happens but just those that bring simple little pleasures, following one another softly, like pearls slipping off a string.
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You may tire of reality but you never tire of dreams.
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You have the itch for writing born in you. It's quite incurable. What are you going to do with it?
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I'd like to add some beauty to life, said Anne dreamily. I don't exactly want to make people KNOW more... though I know that IS the noblest ambition... but I'd love to make them have a pleasanter time because of me... to have some little joy or happy thought that would never have existed if I hadn't been born.
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It's dreadful what little things lead people to misunderstand each other.
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I wonder what it would be like to live in a world where it was always June.
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Anne laughed and sighed. She felt very old and mature and wise — which showed how young she was.
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I read in a book once that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, but I've never been able to believe it. I don't believe a rose WOULD be as nice if it was called a thistle or a skunk cabbage.
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Anne, are you killed?' shrieked Diana, throwing herself on her knees beside her friend. 'Oh, Anne, dear Anne, speak just one word to me and tell me if you're killed.
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I'm afraid of those cows,' protested poor Dora, seeing a prospect of escape. 'The very idea of your being scared of those cows,' scoffed Davy. 'Why, they're both younger than you.
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I read somewhere once that souls were like flowers,' said Priscilla. 'Then your soul is a golden narcissus,' said Anne, 'and Diana's is like a red, red rose. Jane's is an apple blossom, pink and wholesome and sweet.' 'And our own is a white violet, with purple streaks in its heart,' finished Priscilla.
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Those who can soar to the highest heights can also plunge to the deepest depths and the natures which enjoy most keenly are those which also suffer most sharply.
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I love them, they are so nice and selfish. Dogs are TOO good and unselfish. They make me feel uncomfortable. But cats are gloriously human.
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Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it.
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Kindred spirits are not so scarce as I used to think. It's splendid to find out there are so many of them in the world.
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It seems to me a most dreadful thing to go out of the world and not leave one person behind you who is sorry you are gone,' said Anne, shuddering.
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I love pretty things and I hate to look in the glass and see something that isn't pretty. It makes me feel so sorrowful—just as I feel when I look at any ugly thing. I pity it because it isn't beautiful.
Lucy Maud Montgomery