Hope

Perhaps, after all, romance did not come into ones 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 beautifull friendship, as a golden hearted rose slipping from its green sheath.
-Anne of Avonlea