Reading Stories Is Bad Enough But Writing

I Wonder What A Soul…a Person's Soul…would Look Like,' Said Priscilla Dreamily. 'like That, I Should Think,' Answered Anne, Pointing To A Radiance Of Sifted Sunlight Streaming Through A Birch Tree. 'only With Shape And Features Of Course. I Like To Fancy Souls As Being Made Of Light. And Some Are All Shot Through With Rosy Stains And Quivers…and Some Have A Soft Glitter Like Moonlight On The Sea…and Some Are Pale And Transparent Like Mist At Dawn.

Nobody Whom This War Has Touched Will Ever Be Happy Again In Quite The Same Way. But It Will Be A Better Happiness, I Think, Little Sister - A Happiness We've Earned.

We Must Have Ideals And Try To Live Up To Them, Even If We Never Quite Succeed. Life Would Be A Sorry Business Without Them. With Them It's Grand And Great.

As A Rule, I Am Very Careful To Be Shallow And Conventional Where Depth And Originality Are Wasted.

The Body Grows Slowly And Steadily But The Soul Grows By Leaps And Bounds. It May Come To Its Full Stature In An Hour.