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No brain at all, some of them [people], only grey fluff that's blown into their heads by mistake, and they don't Think.
A. A. Milne
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A. A. Milne
Age: 74 †
Born: 1882
Born: January 18
Died: 1956
Died: January 31
Author
Essayist
Military Officer
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
Prosaist
Screenwriter
Writer
London
England
Alan Alexander Milne
A.A. Milne
People
Fluff
Blown
Grey
Heads
Mistake
Brain
Think
Thinking
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Something feels funny. I must be thinking too hard.
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You can't help respecting anybody who can spell TUESDAY, even if he doesn't spell it right but spelling isn't everything. There are days when spelling Tuesday simply doesn't count.
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WHERE did you say it was?' asked Pooh. Just here,' said Eeyore. Made of sticks?' Yes' Oh!' said Piglet. What?' said Eeyore. I just said Oh!' said Piglet nervously. And so as to seem quite at ease he hummed Tiddely-pom once or twice in a what-shall-we-do-now kind of way.
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Don't talk anybody, don't come near! Can't you see the fish might hear? He thinks I'm playing with a piece of string He thinks I'm another sort of funny thing, But he doesn't know I'm fishing - He doesn't know I'm fishing. That's what I'm doing - Fishing.
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Eeyore, the old grey donkey, stood by the side of the stream and looked at himself in the water. Pathetic, he said. That's what it is. Pathetic.
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If people ask me, I always tell them: Quite well, thank you, I'm very glad to say. If people ask me, I always answer, Quite well, thank you, how are you today? I always answer, I always tell them, If they ask me Politely... BUT SOMETIMES I wish That they wouldn't
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Piglet opened the letter box and climbed in. Then, having untied himself, he began to squeeze into the slit, through which in the old days when front doors were front doors, many an unexpected letter than WOL had written to himself, had come slipping.
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Chess has this in common with making poetry that the desire for it comes upon the amateur in gusts.
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I don't see much sense in that, said Rabbit. No, said Pooh humbly, there isn't. But there was going to be when I began it. It's just that something happened to it along the way.
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She turned to the sunlight And shook her yellow head, And whispered to her neighbor: Winter is dead.
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Think it over, think it under.
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If you were a cloud, and sailed up there, You'd sail on water as blue as air, And you'd see me here in the fields and say: 'Doesn't the sky look green today?
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I just like to know, said Pooh humbly.
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When stuck in the river, it is best to dive and swim to the bank yourself before someone drops a large stone on your chest in an attempt to hoosh you there.
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What distinguishes Cambridge from Oxford, broadly speaking, is that nobody who has been to Cambridge feels impelled to write about it.
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When you are pretty sure that an Adventure is going to happen, brush the honey off your nose and spruce yourself up as best you can, so as to look Ready for Anything.
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Walking with her man, Lost in a dream
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