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.
Rating 4.93 em 5(14 Votes)
Author: L.M. Montgomery