And thus the journey ended. But the travelers lived on.
The teeth of the dreadly viper is still sticking into me!’ he yelled. ‘I is feeling the teeth sticking into my anklet!
There was an air of menace about them as they loped slowly across the plain with long lolloping strides, heading for the BFG.
What’s that?’ Sophie cried. ‘That is all the giants zippfizzing off to another country to guzzle human beans,’ the BFG.
They is shootling guns and going up in aerioplanes to drop their bombs on each other’s heads every week. Human beans is always killing other human beans.
Frobscottle is sweet and jumbly!
There’s plenty of money out there. They print more every day. But this ticket, there’s only five of them in the whole world, and that’s all there’s ever going to be. Only a dummy would give this up for something as common money. Are you a dummy?
The nastier the dream, the angrier it is getting when it is in prison,’ the BFG said.
Her face, I’m afraid, was neither a thing of beauty nor a joy for ever.
When you’re writing a book with people in it as opposed to animals, it is no good having people who are ordinary, because they are not going to interested your readers at all.
You’re cheating people who trust you.
The act of copulation is like that of picking the nose. It’s all right to be doing it yourself but it is a singularly unattractive spectacle for the onlooker.
Unless one was going to become a doctor, a lawyer, a scientist, an engineer or some other kind of professional person, I saw little point in wasting three or four years at Oxford or Cambridge, and I still hold this view.
Occasionally one comes across parents who take the opposite line, who show no interest at all in their children, and these of course are far worse than the doting ones.
When Bruce Bogtrotter had eaten his way through half of the entire enormous cake, he paused for just a couple of seconds and took several deep breaths.
No-one got rich being honest, the customers have to be diddled.
Now look at me,” Mrs Wormwood said. “Then look at you. You chose books. I chose looks.
Matilda said nothing. She simply sat there admiring the wonderful effect of her own handiwork. Mr Wormwood’s fine crop of black hair was now a dirty silver, the colour this time of a tightrope-walker’s tights that had not been washed for the entire circus season.
Never in a pig’s whistle!’ cried the BFG.
I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s none of my business what you do. The trouble is, I’m a writer, and most writers are terrible nosey parkers.