Chess has this in common with making poetry; that the desire for it comes upon the amateur in gusts.
Ideas may drift into other minds, but they do not drift my way. I have to go and fetch them. I know no work manual or mental to equal the appalling heart-breaking anguish of fetching an idea from nowhere.
This writing business. Pencils and what-not. Over-rated, if you ask me. Silly stuff. Nothing in it.
And really, it wasn’t much good having anything exciting like floods, if you couldn’t share them with somebody.
But [Pooh] couldn't sleep. The more he tried to sleep the more he couldn't. He tried counting Sheep, which is sometimes a good way of getting to sleep, and, as that was no good, he tried counting Heffalumps. And that was worse. Because every Heffalump that he counted was making straight for a pot of Pooh's honey, and eating it all. For some minutes he lay there miserably, but when the five hundred and eighty-seventh Heffalump was licking its jaws, and saying to itself, "Very good honey this, I don't know when I've tasted better," Pooh could bear it no longer.
Of beer, an enthusiast has said that it could never be bad, but that some brands might be better than others.
Christopher Robin ... just said it had an "x."' 'It isn't their necks I mind,' said Piglet earnestly. 'It's their teeth.
His dress told her nothing, but his face told her things which she was glad to know.
On Monday, when the sun is hot, I wonder to myself a lot. Now is it true, or is it not, that what is which and which is what?
How long does getting thin take?
A Proper Tea is much nicer than a Very Nearly Tea, which is one you forget about afterwards.
I suppose this is the reason why diaries are so rarely kept nowadays- that nothing ever happens to anybody.
You never can tell with bees.
If you were a cloud, and sailed up there, You'd sail on water as blue as air, And you'd see me here in the fields and say: 'Doesn't the sky look green today?
Well,” said Owl, “the customary procedure in such cases is as follows.” “What does Crustimoney Proseedcake mean?” said Pooh. “For I am a Bear of Very Little Brain, and long words Bother me.
And the only reason for making honey is so as I can eat it.
Now then, Pooh," said Christopher Robin, "where's your boat?" "I ought to say," explained Pooh as they walked down to the shore of the island, "that it isn't just an ordinary sort of boat. Sometimes it's a Boat, and sometimes it's more of an Accident. It all depends." "Depends on what?" "On whether I'm on the top of it or underneath it.
What distinguishes Cambridge from Oxford, broadly speaking, is that nobody who has been to Cambridge feels impelled to write about it.
It's always useful to know where a friend-and-relation is, whether you want him or whether you don't.
Hallo, Rabbit,” he said, “is that you?” "Let’s pretend it isn’t,” said Rabbit, “and see what happens.
But Piglet is so small that he slips into a pocket, where it is very comfortable to feel him when you are not quite sure whether twice seven is twelve or twenty-two.
Owl,' said Rabbit shortly, 'you and I have brains. The others have fluff. If there is easy thinking to be done in this Forest - and when I say thinking I mean thinking - you and I must do it.
And by and by Christopher Robin came to the end of things, and he was silent, and he sat there, looking out over the world, just wishing it wouldn't stop.
No brain at all, some of them [people], only grey fluff that's blown into their heads by mistake, and they don't Think.
But now I am six. And I'm clever as clever. And now I think I'll stay six now forever and ever.
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