Nobody gets praised for the right reasons.

I mean one of the things about being alone is that you've no people to define yourself off, I mean, people are like all-round mirrors, because let's face it, we don't often see ourselves all round in a mirror anyway, do we.

Things are going round and round in my head--or maybe my head is going round and round in things.

To love someone enough to let them go, you had to let them go forever or you did not love them that much.

In addition, Master Twinkle seems convinced that someone is denying him a pair of stripey trousers.

Mr. Crossley suddenly wondered why he was why he was worrying about the note. It was only a joke, after all. He cleared his throat. Everyone looked up hopefully. 'Somebody,' said Mr. Crossley, 'seems to have sent me a Halloween message.' And he read out the note: 'SOMEONE IN THIS CLASS IS A WITCH.' 6B thought this was splendid news. Hands shot up all over the room like a bed of beansprouts. 'It's me, Mr. Crossley!' 'Mr. Crossley, I'm the witch!' 'Can I be the witch, Mr. Crossley?' 'Me, Mr. Crossley, me, me, me!

Typical! I break my neck trying to get here, and I find you peacefully tidying up!