What day is it?" It's today," squeaked Piglet. My favorite day," said Pooh.

Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh?" he whispered. "Yes, Piglet?" "Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's hand. "I just wanted to be sure of you.

I do like a little bit of butter to my bread.

What I say is that, if a man really likes potatoes, he must be a pretty decent sort of fellow.

Whereas men of an older school, like myself, smoke for the pleasure of smoking, men of this school smoke for the pleasure of pipe-owning-of selecting which of their many white-spotted pipes they will fill with their specially blended tobacco, of filling the one so chosen, of lighting it, of taking it from the mouth to gaze lovingly at the white spot and thus letting it go out, of lighting it again and letting it go out again, of polishing it up with their own special polisher and putting it to bed, and then the pleasure of beginning all over again with another white-spotted one.

Chess has this in common with making poetry; that the desire for it comes upon the amateur in gusts.

That's what Tiggers do best!