I Have Noticed Several Times That People

And So I Write The Way I Myself Would Like The Book To Be – If I Were A Child. I Write For The Child Within Me.

As The Children Were Sitting There Eating Pears, A Girl Came Walking Along The Road From Town. When She Saw The Children She Stopped And Asked, "have You Seen My Papa Go By?" "m-m-m," Said Pippi. "how Did He Look? Did He Have Blue Eyes?" "yes," Said The Girl. "medium Large, Not Too Tall And Not Too Short?" "yes," Said The Girl. "black Hat And Black Shoes?" "yes, Exactly," Said The Girl Eagerly. "no, That One We Haven't Seen," Said Pippi Decidedly.

A Childhood Without Books – That Would Be No Childhood. That Would Be Like Being Shut Out From The Enchanted Place Where You Can Go And Find The Rarest Kind Of Joy.

Everything Great That Ever Happened In This World Happened First In Somebody’s Imagination.

At Least, Not In This Country,' She Added After A Moment's Thought. 'in China It's A Little Different. Once I Saw A Chinaman In Shanghai. His Ears Were So Big He Could Use Them For A Raincoat. When It Rained, He Just Crept In Under His Ears And Was Warm And Snug As Could Be. Not That The Ears Had Such A Rattling Good Time Of It, You Understand. If It Was Specially Bad Weather, He'd Invite Friends And Acquaintances To Pitch Camp Under His Ears Too. There They Sat, Singing Their Sorrowful Songs While It Poured Down Outside.