As Long As You Have A Garden

When Mary Lennox Was Sent To Misselthwaite Manor To Live With Her Uncle Everybody Said She Was The Most Disagreeable-looking Child Ever Seen. It Was True Too . . . She Was As Tyrannical And Selfish A Little Pig As Ever Lived.

That's What I Look At Some People For. I Like To Know About Them. I Think Them Over Afterward.

In The Garden There Was Nothing Which Was Not Quite Like Themselves - Nothing Which Did Not Understand The Wonderfulness Of What Was Happening To Them - The Immense, Tender, Terrible, Heart-breaking Beauty And Solemnity Of Eggs. If There Had Been One Person In That Garden Who Had Not Known Through All His Or Her Innermost Being That If An Egg Were Taken Away Or Hurt The Whole World Would Whirl Round And Crash Through Space And Come To An End... There Could Have Been No Happiness Even In That Golden Springtime Air.

Children's As Good As 'rithmetic To Set You Findin' Out Things.

The Truth Is That When One Is Still A Child-or Even If One Is Grown Up- And Has Been Well Fed, And Has Slept Long And Softly And Warm; When One Has Gone To Sleep In The Midst Of A Fairy Story, And Has Wakened To Find It Real, One Cannot Be Unhappy Or Even Look As If One Were; And One Could Not, If One Tried, Keep A Glow Of Joy Out Of One's Eyes.