I Don’t Feel Very Much Like Pooh

For One Person Who Dreams Of Making Fifty Thousand Pounds, A Hundred People Dream Of Being Left Fifty Thousand Pounds.

Sometimes,' Said Pooh, 'the Smallest Things Take Up The Most Room In Your Heart.

By The Time It Came To The Edge Of The Forest, The Stream Had Grown Up, So That It Was Almost A River, And, Being Grown-up, It Did Not Run And Jump And Sparkle Along As It Used To Do When It Was Younger, But Moved More Slowly. For It Knew Now Where It Was Going, And It Said To Itself, “there Is No Hurry. We Shall Get There Some Day.” But All The Little Streams Higher Up In The Forest Went This Way And That, Quickly, Eagerly, Having So Much To Find Out Before It Was Too Late.

This Writing Business. Pencils And What-not. Over-rated, If You Ask Me. Silly Stuff. Nothing In It.

I Suppose That Every One Of Us Hopes Secretly For Immortality; To Leave, I Mean, A Name Behind Him Which Will Live Forever In This World, Whatever He May Be Doing, Himself, In The Next.