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Jane's stories are extremely sensible. Then Diana puts too many murders into hers. She says most of the time she doesn't know what to do with the people so she kills them off to get rid of them.

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
Extremely
Murder
Says
Murders
Doesn
Diana
Stories
Jane
Many
Kills
Time
Sensible
People
Puts

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Don't be ridiculous, please.' The most insulting words in the world!
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The point of good writing is knowing when to stop.
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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.
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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.
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I've always held that early marriage is a sure indication of second-rate goods that had to be sold in a hurry. - Martin Harris
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Fancies are like shadows...you can't cage them, they're such wayward, dancing things.
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Since ever the world was spinning And till the world shall end You've your man in the beginning Or you have him in the end, But to have him from start to finish And neither nor borrow nor lend Is what all of the girls are wanting And none of the gods can send
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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'm just tired of everything…even of the echoes. There is nothing in my life but echoes…echoes of lost hopes and dreams and joys. They're beautiful and mocking.
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But I just went to work and imagined that I had on the most beautiful pale blue silk dress - because when you are imagining you might as well imagine something worth while.
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Death grows friendlier as we grow older.
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When one great passion seizes possession of the soul all other feelings are crowded out.
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Words aren't made — they grow,' said Anne.
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But was anything in life, Anne asked herself wearily, like one's imagination of it?
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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.
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…determined to enjoy her luxury of grief uncomforted.
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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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True friends are always together in spirit.
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I wonder if it will be—can be—any more beautiful than this,’ murmured Anne, looking around her with the loving, enraptured eyes of those to whom ‘home’ must always be the loveliest spot in the world, no matter what fairer lands may lie under alien stars.
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Few things in Avonlea ever escaped Mrs. Lynde. It was only that morning Anne had said, If you went to your own room at midnight, locked the door, pulled down the blind, and sneezed, Mrs. Lynde would ask you the next day how your cold was!
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