If We Don't Chase Things, Sometimes The

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.

Saying One's Prayers Isn't Exactly The Same Thing As Praying.

I Am Well In Body Although Considerably Rumpled Up In Spirit, Thank You, Ma'am,' Said Anne Gravely. Then Aside To Marilla In An Audible Whisper, 'there Wasn't Anything Startling In That, Was There, Marilla?

One Reason Why I Like Writing Poetry - You Can Say So Many Things In It That Are True In Poetry But Wouldn't Be True In Prose.

I Know I Haven't Much Sense Or Sobriety, But I've Got What Is Ever So Much Better — The Knack Of Making People Like Me.