Anne: He loves me? I can’t know why.
Marilla: Because you made Josie Pye and Ruby Gillis and all of those wishy-washy young ladies who waltzed by him look like spineless nothings.
Anne: Marilla, he’s hardly my ideal of a romantic suitor.
Perhaps, after all, romance did not come into one’s life with pomp and blare, like a gay knight riding down; perhaps it crept to one’s side like an old friend through quiet ways; perhaps it revealed itself in seeming prose, until some sudden shaft of illumination flung athwart its pages betrayed the rhythm and the music.
Perhaps… perhaps…love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship, as a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath.
“ I’ve loved you ever since that day you broke your slate over my head in school.”
-Anne of the Island
