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L. M. Montgomery

"And yet... you wouldn't want it to stop hurting... you wouldn't want to forget your little mother even if you could."

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"And yet... you wouldn't want it to stop hurting... you wouldn't want to forget your little mother even if you could."

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Amber Hurdle

"Mourning is not forgetting... It is an undoing. Every minute tie has to be untied and something permanent and valuable recovered and assimilated from the dust."

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Amber Hurdle

"We need a shroud. A shroud for the son of Hermes."

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Amber Hurdle

"It was a hurting tune, resigned, a cry of heartache for all in the world that fell apart. As ash rose black against the brilliant sky, Fire's fiddle cried out for the dead, and for the living who stay behind to say goodbye."

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Amber Hurdle

"The death of a beloved is an amputation."

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Amber Hurdle

"The only thing I can recall is that it rained all day and all night, and that when I asked my father whether heaven was crying, he couldn't bring himself to reply. Six years later my mother's absence remained in the air around us, a deafening silence that I had not yet learned to stifle with words."

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Amber Hurdle

"I turned and faced the Olympians."We need a shroud," I announced, my voice cracking. "A shroud for the son of Hermes."

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Amber Hurdle

"The loss of my child broke my spirit."

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Amber Hurdle

"I sat up and wiped my eyes, cursing the damned faeries and their eternal war. It seemed there was never enough time. Time to dance, or talk, or laugh, or even mourn the passing of a friend. Slipping off my corsage, I laid it on Ironhorse's cold metal shoulder, wanting him to have something natural and beautiful in this lifeless place.Goodbye, Ironhorse."

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Amber Hurdle

"He did touch people's lives, the lives of strangers, in an entirely unanticipated way. It was they who really mourned him - or what they thought was him - with a grief that was no less sharp for not being intimate with its object."

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Amber Hurdle

"Why do they lie? she asked herself aloud. "They say time makes losing someone you loved easier to deal with, but it only makes it worse."

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L. M. Montgomery
"Isn't it splendid to think of all the things there are to find out about? It just makes me feel glad to be alive- it's such an interesting world."
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L. M. Montgomery
"Hat's the worst of growing up, and I'm beginning to realize it. The things you wanted so much when you were a child don't seem half so wonderful to you when you get them."
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L. M. Montgomery
"Well, hope for your thrilling career - but remember that if there is to be drama in your life somebody must pay the piper in the coin of suffering. If not you - then someone else."
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L. M. Montgomery
"Mrs. Allan's face was not the face of the girlbride whom the minister had brought to Avonlea five years before. It had lost some of its bloom and youthful curves, and there were fine, patient lines about eyes and mouth. A tiny grave in that very cemetery accounted for some of them; and some new ones had come during the recent illness, now happily over, of her little son. But Mrs. Allan's dimples were as sweet and sudden as ever, her eyes as clear and bright and true; and what her face lacked of girlish beauty was now more than atoned for in added tenderness and strength."
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L. M. Montgomery
"Fear is the original sin. Almost all of the evil in the world has its origin in the fact that some one is afraid of something.It is a cold slimy serpent coiling about you. It is horrible to live with fear and it is of all things degrading."
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L. M. Montgomery
"Well, one can't get over the habit of being a liitle girl all at once."
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L. M. Montgomery
"She suddenly found herself laughing without bitterness."
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L. M. Montgomery
"But the summer had been a very happy one, too -- a time of glad living with summer suns and skies, a time of keen delight in wholesome things; a time of renewing and deepening of old friendships; a time in which she had learned to live more nobly, to work more patiently, to play more heartily."
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L. M. Montgomery
"I have been reading three books Dean lent me this week. One was like a rose garden--very pleasant, but just a little too sweet. And one was like a pine wood on a mountain--full of balsam and tang--I loved it, and yet it filled me with a sort of despair. It was written so beautifully--I can never write like that, I feel sure. And one--it was just like a pig-sty. Dean gave me that one by mistake."
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L. M. Montgomery
"We mustn't let next week rob us of this week's joy."
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