Why, I've Never Even Had A Quarrel

It Always Amazes Me To Look At The Little, Wrinkled Brown Seeds And Think Of The Rainbows In 'em," Said Captain Jim. "when I Ponder On Them Seeds I Don't Find It Nowise Hard To Believe That We've Got Souls That'll Live In Other Worlds. You Couldn't Hardly Believe There Was Life In Them Tiny Things, Some No Bigger Than Grains Of Dust, Let Alone Colour And Scent, If You Hadn't Seen The Miracle, Could You?

It's The Worst Kind Of Cruelty — The Thoughtless Kind. You Can't Cope With It.

Do You Think Amethysts Can Be The Souls Of Good Violets?

Heretics Are Wicked, But They're Mighty Int'resting. It's Jest That They've Got Sorter Lost Looking For God, Being Under The Impression That He's Hard To Find - Which He Ain't Never.

One June Evening, When The Orchards Were Pink-blossomed Again, When The Frogs Were Singing Silverly Sweet In The Marshes About The Head Of The Lake Of Shining Waters, And The Air Was Full Of The Savor Of Clover Fields And Balsamic Fir Woods, Anne Was Sitting By Her Gable Window. She Had Been Studying Her Lessons, But It Had Grown Too Dark To See The Book, So She Had Fallen Into Wide-eyed Reverie, Looking Out Past The Boughs Of The Snow Queen, Once More Bestarred With Its Tufts Of Blossom.