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Quote by Lucy Maud Montgomery

“Katie Maurice was a little girl like myself, and I loved her dearly. I would stand before that door and prattle to Katie for hours, giving and receiving confidences. In especial, I liked to do this at twilight, when the fire had been lit and the rooms and its reflections were a glamour of light and shadow.”

Quote by Lucy Maud Montgomery

Author

Lucy Maud Montgomery
Lucy Maud Montgomery

Lucy Maud Montgomery was a Canadian author renowned for her children's literature, particularly the 'Anne of Green Gables' series. Her works are celebrated for their refreshing style and profound insights into human nature. more

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“SCOTT JEFFERS: My imaginary friend has multiple personalities and one of them thinks he’s me. Obviously, this shouldn’t be a problem. And it wouldn’t be for most people. But it’s starting to get out of hand. The delusion is becoming unbearable. Yes, I know. It does sound crazy. But it’s not. I just need to find a way to get him cured of his multiple personality disorder. Or, well, at least that one. The one that thinks he’s me.”

“SCOTTIE JEFFERS: Okay. Everything he said is a complete lie. I’m not the imaginary one. He is. He’s one of my imaginary friend’s multiple identities. Not the other way around. I don’t know what I’m going to do about this. People look at me like I’m insane when I tell them this. Which, I guess, I understand. It does sound insane, I suppose. Well, I mean, no supposing. It does sound like absolute lunacy. But only if you don’t know me.”

“I got to believe that the people who can really be trusted are those who have kept their promises, not under the influence of pleasing people, but under the influence of doing what they have devoted their lives to be doing!”

“What would she eat? Meat? Vegan? Vegetarian? Pescatarian? More important, would her taste buds be open to spices? I call this research ocular reconnaissance. The woman meanders toward one of the butchers and points to a goliath-sized leg of lamb---definitely a carnivore. I wonder how she'd prepare her meal---perhaps with slices of garlic stuffed into the meatiest parts of the top, slow roasted with rosemary, with potatoes on the side, the juices, the herbs, infusing into everything. Served with a mint sauce? Or is she the type who colors outside the lines and does something less traditional?”

“Perhaps I should go back a few years earlier. My parents, who travelled from Odessa, the Russian city on the Black Sea, shortly before the 1914 war, were part of a vast migration of Jews fleeing Tsarist oppression to the dream of America that obsessed poor men all over Europe. The tailors thought of it as a place where people had, maybe, three, four different suits to wear. Glaziers grew dizzy with excitement reckoning up the number of windows in even one little skyscraper. Cobblers counted twelve million feet, a shoe on each. There was gold in the streets for all trades; a meat dinner every single day. And Freedom. That was not something to be sneezed at, either. But my parents never got to America.”

“My mother never stopped cooking. She never stopped nourishing me. On Sundays, her face would disappear into steam from simmering carrots, celery, and onions, as she prepped our soup for the week. Her food processor held a prominent spot on the kitchen counter, mixing homemade sauces. The kitchen always smelled of tahini. She showed me, leading by example, that real food is the right food. It is the only food.”

“You should've thought of that before becoming a fireman." "Thought!" he said. "Was I given a choice? I was raised to think the best thing in the world is not to read. The best thing is television and radio and ball games and a home I can't afford and, Good Lord, now, only now I realize what I've done. My grandfather and father were firemen. Walking in my sleep I followed them.”