“Hast du es schon gelesen?", fragte er.Er spielte auf das Buch an, das ich bei ihm gekauft hatte."Ja. Es war anders als ich es in Erinnerung hatte, aber nicht schlecht."Das Buch war ein Kalssiker und ich hatte es als Kind mehrfach verschlungen."So ist das mit verlorenen Dingen", meinte Jacob und bot mir ein Glas grünen Tee an.”

“Could a name be any shorter? Three letters without even the flourish of an e. Ann, a trio of curves and lines.It means “full of grace”.”

“But you have such dimples," said Anne, smiling affectionately into the pretty, vivacious face so near her own. "Lovely dimples, like little dents in cream. I have given up all hope of dimples. My dimple-dream will never come true; but so many of my dreams have that I mustn't complain. Am I all ready now?”

“Newly-born books are like birds… they shouldn’t be kicked out of the nest until they’re capable of flying. Wendy Anne Darling 5-1-15”

“...And every day in heaven will be more beautiful than the one before it Davy," assured Anne.”

“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.”

“There's such a lot of different Annes in me. I sometimes think that is why I am 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.”

“Anne tried to bite her tongue, but she was finding her mouth bloody too often.”

“Don't give up all your romance, Anne," he whispered shyly, "a little bit is a good thing - not too much, of course, but keep a little of it, Anne, keep a little of it.”

“You're not eating anything," said Marilla sharply, eying her as if it were a serious shortcoming. Anne sighed. I can't. I'm in the depths of despair. Can you eat whenyou are in the depths of despair?"I've never been in the depths of despair, so I can't say," responded Marilla. Weren't you? Well, did you ever try to IMAGINE you were inthe depths of despair?"No, I didn't."Then I don't think you can understand what it's like. It's very uncomfortable a feeling indeed.”

“The dark hills, with the darker spruces marching over them, looked grim on early falling nights, but Ingleside bloomed with firelight and laughter, though the winds come in from the Atlantic singing of mournful things. "Why isn't the wind happy, Mummy?" asked Walter one night. "Because it is remembering all the sorrow of the world since it began," answered Anne.”