I don't want to write for adults. I want to write for readers who can perform miracles. Only children perform miracles when they read.

But Nightshirts aren't dangerous," Pippi assured her. "They don't bite anybody except in self defense.

Well, well, so you aren't going to be a maidservant this time?" said Pippi, stroking his back. "Oh, that was a lie, that's true," she continued. "But still, if it's true, how can it be a lie?" she argued. "You wait and see, it's going to turn out he was a maidservant in Arabie after all, and if that's the case, I know who's making the meatballs at our house hereafter!

A childhood without books – that would be no childhood. That would be like being shut out from the enchanted place where you can go and find the rarest kind of joy.

The girl hurried away, but then Pippi shouted, "Did he have big ears that reached way down to his shoulders?" "No," said the girl and turned and came running back in amazement. "You don't mean to say that you have seen a man walk by with such big ears?" "I have never seen anyone who walks with his ears," said Pippi. "All the people I know walk with their feet.

Then she yelled after the girl, 'No, we haven't seen any bald 'uns all days. But yesterday seventeen of 'em went by. Arm in arm!

No Fridolf, bother all this learning. I can't study anymore because I must climb the mast to see what kind of weather we're going to have tomorrow.