“November is the most disagreeable month in the whole ear,' said Margaret, standing at the window one dull afternoon, looking out at the frostbitten garden.'That's the reason I was born in it,' observed Jo pensively, quite unconscious of the blot on her nose.'If something very pleasant should happen now, we should think it a delightful month,' said Beth, who took a hopeful view of everything, even November.”
“I thank God for the month of November! I love the month of November. My God, I am grateful for this gracious and glorious month.”
“It seems strange to think, that what gives us most hope for the future should be called Dolores, said Margaret.”
“In London November isn't a month, it's a state of mind.”
“think of it this way," he said "It took nine months to get you born, so doesn't it figure it would take nine months to get you dead?”
“It was November--the month of crimson sunsets, parting birds, deep, sad hymns of the sea, passionate wind-songs in the pines. Anne roamed through the pineland alleys in the park and, as she said, let that great sweeping wind blow the fogs out of her soul.”