James gave the huffle of a snail in danger. And nobody heard him at all.

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

Of beer, an enthusiast has said that it could never be bad, but that some brands might be better than others.

I suppose that by this time they had finished their dressing. Roger Scurvilegs tells us nothing on such important matters; no doubt from modesty. "Next morning they rose," he says, and disappoints us of a picture of Udo brushing his hair.

Hallo, Eeyore." "Same to you, Pooh Bear, and twice on Thursdays," said Eeyore gloomily. Before Pooh could say: 'Why Thursdays?' Christopher Robin began to explain the sad story of Eeyore's lost house.

They wanted to come in after the pounds", explained Pooh, "so I let them. It's the best way to write poetry, letting things come.

When I was young, we always had mornings like this.