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That you are here—that life exists,
That the powerful play goes on, & you may contribute a verse.

Leaves of Grass | Walt Whitman

O, to take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard,
to eat not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands,
adore it,
then bite into
the round jubilance of peach

From Blossoms | Li-Young Lee

Faith wasn’t just about creating a set of comforting thoughts about God; it was living out an ethic that called for sacrifice.

“To delay or fail to make decisions may be more sinful than to make wrong decisions out of faith and love.”

“What a family!” Anne repeated exultantly

“I’m writing living epistles now,” said Anne, thinking of Jem and Co.

As for Ingleside, nobody but happy people have ever lived here…so you see we’re not ghostable.

a flock of starlings who were holding a parliament in a little field

Anne always liked to get up early and catch that mystical half-hour before sunrise when the world belongs to the fairies and the old gods.

We need so much help, with the little sensitive, loving hearts and minds that look to us for guidance and love and understanding

For a time she thought of all the old loved things behind her, and then her thoughts ran ahead of her to the loved things before her

Looking around the rug, one thing’s for sure: it’s here.

[I have] been wallowing in Louis ever since…

…halfway through last night I realized I could not supPORT the notion that when I take it back I will have NO Louis in the house—

THOU VARLET?

(Also a saying I’m waiting to apply)

I personally can’t think of anything less sacrosanct than a bad book or even a mediocre book.

It sounds green and gracious

All that gleaming, leather and gold, stamping and beautiful type belongs in the pine–paneled library of an English country home; it wants to be read by the fire in a gentleman‘s leather easy chair

One egg. Per person. Per month.

Ration survivors are extraordinary

he has a first edition for six bucks, do i want it, he ask innocently. Dear Frank: Yes, I want it.

Yours faithfully,

I’ll join the dance of fireflies in Lover’s Lane

I’m saying goodbye tonight to the old Storm King, with sunset on its brow, and my little winding valley full of dusk

I’ll never be quite so chummy with the winds again as I’ve been here

One thing is certain—she will have no commonplace existence

Let’s be daring and adventurous and expectant. Let’s dance to meet life and all it can bring to us.

It was as if she had set lighted candles in all the windows of her house of life

They went through Lover’s Lane, full of lovely tree shadows, and across fields were little fir trees fringe the fences, and through woods that were full of secrets they seemed always on the point of whispering to you but never did, and through open glades that were like pools of silver

The White Way of Delight had little festoons of stars tangled in the trees

Dew-wet, spicy ferns ankle-deep along the brook and lazy, dappling shadows in Lover’s Lane and wild strawberries in Mr. Bell’s pasture and the dark, loveliness of firs in the Haunted Wood.
My very soul has wings.

Moving in an atmosphere of mothballs, and wearing a chronically worried expression