Anne of Windy Poplars

by L.M. Montgomery

“It’s dusk, dearest. (In passing, isn’t ‘dusk’ a lovely word? I like it better than twilight. It sounds so velvety and shadowy and . . . and . . . dusky.) In daylight I belong to the world . . . in the night to sleep and eternity. But in the dusk I’m free from both and belong only to myself . . .

. . . and it don’t never matter how poor you are as long as you’ve got something to love.”

It was really dreadful to be so different from other people . . . and yet rather wonderful, too, as if you were a being strayed from another star.