My Book Character

A lot of quizzes and tags ask you what book or movie character you are the most like. I've always had troubles with that question because I've never felt like I'm very good at judging myself. But I was re-reading some old favorite books a few days ago and one of them was Emily Climbs by L. M. Montgomery, the second book in the Emily series. I think L. M. Montgomery and I would have been kindred spirits.

I'm not so fond of Anne but I love the Emily books. :D

"She was glad Ilse was asleep. Any human companionship, even the dearest and most perfect, would have been alien to her then. She was sufficient unto herself, needing not love nor comradeship nor any human emotion to round out her felicity. Such moments come rarely in any life, but when they do come they are inexpressibly wonderful--as if the finite were for a second infinity--as if humanity were for a space uplifted into divinity--as if all ugliness had vanished, leaving only flawless beauty. Oh--beauty--Emily shivered with the pure ecstasy of it. She loved it--it filled her being tonight as never before. She was afraid to move or breathe lest she break the current of beauty that was flowing through her. Life seemed like a wonderful instrument on which to play supernal harmonies.

'Oh, God, make me worthy of it--oh, make me worthy of it,' she prayed. Could she ever be worthy of such a message--could she dare try to carry some of the loveliness of that 'dialogue divine' back to the everyday world of sordid market-place and clamorous street? She must give it--she could not keep it to herself."

Sometimes I have that feeling. The absolute amazement you feel on a summer night when you look up at the stars. The joy and wonder when you look out at God's amazing creation.

"She paused by the old lichened sun-dial and traced the motto on its border, 'So goes Time by.' Time did go by--swiftly, mercilessly, even at New Moon, unspoiled as it was by any haste or rush of modernity. Should she not take the current when it offered? The white Jun lilies waved in the faint breeze--she could almost see her old friend the Wind Woman bending over them to tilt their waxen chins. Would the Wind Woman come to her in the crowded city streets? Could she be like Kipling's cat there?

'And I wonder if I'll ever have the flash in New York,' she thought wistfully.

How beautiful was this old garden which Cousin Jimmy loved! How beautiful was old New Moon farm! Its beauty had a subtly romantic quality of all its own. There was enchantment in the curve of the dark-red, dew-wet road beyond--remote, spiritual allurement in the Three Princesses--magic in the orchard--a hint of intriguing devilment in the fir wood. How could she leave this old house that had sheltered and loved her--never tell me houses do not love!--the graves of her kin by the Blair Water pond, the wide fields and haunted woods where her childhood dreams had been dreamed? All at once she knew she could not leave them--she knew she had never really wanted to leave them. That was why she had gone about desperately asking advice of impossible outsiders. She had really been hoping they would tell her not to go. That was why she had wished so wildly that Dean were home--he would certainly have told her not to go."

:) I could never leave Oregon or my Church. Never ever...

Well, lots of love :)

Shay