So the writer who breeds more words than he needs, is making a chore for the reader who reads.
Step with care and great tact. And remember life’s a great balancing act.
I’m afraid that sometimes you’ll play lonely games too. Games you can’t win ’cause you’ll play against you.
This book is to be read in bed.
Be grateful you’re not in the forest in France Where the average young person just hasn’t a chance To escape from the perilous pants eating plants But your pants are safe, you’re a fortunate guy You ought to be shouting how lucky am I.
I can read in red. I can read in blue. I can read in pickle color too.
Not here not there not anywhere!
Got something new, maybe it’ll work before the end of the day if that’s ok .
I know it may seem small and insignificant, but it’s not about what it is, it’s about what it can become. That’s not a seed, any more than you’re just a boy.
Maybe Christmas, the Grinch thought, doesn’t come from a store.
And what would you do if you met a jibboo?
For a host, above all, must be kind to his guests.
Big Z, little Z, what begins with Z? I do. I’m a zizzer zazzer zuzz, as you can plainly see.
Day Play We play all day. Night Fight We fight all night.
If you’d never been born, then you might be an Isn’t! An Isn’t has no fun at all. No, he disn’t.
I don’t like audiences, I prefer my mistakes in private.
Whenever things go a bit sour in a job I’m doing, I always tell myself, ‘You can do better than this.’
I start drawing, and eventually the characters involve themselves in a situation. Then in the end, I go back and try to cut out most of the preachments.
Just tell yourself, Duckie, you’re real quite lucky.
I box in yellow Gox box socks.
Shorth is better than length.