Adults are just outdated children.

And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled 'till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before. What if Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store. What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.

Writing for children is murder. A chapter has to be boiled down to a paragraph. Every word has to count.

I know it may seem small and insignificant, but it's not about what it is, it's about what it can become. That's not a seed, any more than you're just a boy.

Pop guns! And bicycles! Roller skates! Drums! Checkerboards! Tricycles! Popcorn! And plums! And he stuffed them in bags. Then the Grinch, very nimbly, Stuffed all the bags, one by one, up the chimbley!

Nonsense wakes up the brain cells. And it helps develop a sense of humor, which is awfully important in this day and age.

For a host, above all, must be kind to his guests.