I suppose this is the reason why diaries are so rarely kept nowadays- that nothing ever happens to anybody.

Halfway down the stairs, is a stair, where I sit. There isn't any, other stair, quite like, it. I'm not at the bottom, I'm not at the top; So this is the stair, where, I always, stop. Halfway up the stairs, isn't up, and isn't down. It isn't in the nursery, it isn't in the town. And all sorts of funny thoughts, run round my head: It isn't really anywhere! It's somewhere else instead!

My spelling is Wobbly. It's good spelling but it Wobbles, and the letters get in the wrong places.

Tut, Tut, looks like rain

Sometimes,' said Pooh, 'the smallest things take up the most room in your heart.

What distinguishes Cambridge from Oxford, broadly speaking, is that nobody who has been to Cambridge feels impelled to write about it.

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.