Train up a fig tree in the way it should go, and when you are old sit under the shade of it.
To invent, you need a good imagination and a pile of junk.
They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace — Says Alice.
Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin. It is, as far as he knows, the only way of coming downstairs, but sometimes he feels that there really is another way, if only he could stop bumping for a moment and think about it.
"What?" said Piglet, with a jump. And then, to show that he hadn't been frightened, he jumped up and down once or twice more in an exercising sort of way.
These notices had been written by Christopher Robin, who was the only one in the forest who could spell; for Owl, wise though he was in many ways, able to read and write and spell his own name WOL, yet somehow went all to pieces over delicate words like MEASLES and BUTTEREDTOAST.
It was just as if somebody inside him were saying, "Now then, Pooh, time for a little something."
"Because my spelling is Wobbly. It's good spelling but it Wobbles, and the letters get in the wrong places."