If You Live To Be A Hundred,

But It Isn't Easy,' Said Pooh. 'because Poetry And Hums Aren't Things Which You Get, They're Things Which Get You. And All You Can Do Is To Go Where They Can Find You.

Mind Over Matter, Will Make The Pooh Unfatter.

She Turned To The Sunlight And Shook Her Yellow Head, And Whispered To Her Neighbor: "winter Is Dead.

Chess Has This In Common With Making Poetry; That The Desire For It Comes Upon The Amateur In Gusts.

But, Of Course, It Isn't Really Good-bye, Because The Forest Will Always Be There... And Anybody Who Is Friendly With Bears Can Find It.